


Drown In The Darkness (Between The Stars)

by TheSchubita



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Also the OT4 is NOT non-con, Dark, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Gang Rape, Human Sacrifice, Humiliation, It's there but Roger is of age and the Underage isn't really described, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Name-Calling, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Violence, Off-screen Underage, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Rape, Ritual Sex, Ritual pregnancy, Sex Slave, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Slightly Hopeful Ending, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation, also, medieval setting, note how Character Death is NOT tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: Roger volunteers for his sister, gets chosen for a horrible tradition, but at least, he's not entirely alone.Nevertheless, it's a horrbile nine months for him, and death awaits him at the end..Prompts for this were; Sex Slave AU / «Take me not him/her» / AOB
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, Roger Taylor (Queen)/Other(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	Drown In The Darkness (Between The Stars)

**Author's Note:**

> All I can say is, it's d a r k. I'm sorry Roger.
> 
> Thank you, @Tikini and @emma_and_orlando, for hosting this Weekend!
> 
> Please read the tags, this might be sensitive or triggering to some people.
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

“ _No_!” Roger snaps, stepping in front of his trembling, fifteen-year old sister. He ignores the panicked whisper of his name from his mother, the deadly glare of his good-for-nothing father, raising his chin defiantly to the King’s knight. “Take me, not her.”

“Boy,” his father snarls lowly, casting an anxious look at the knight. “Step back before I make you regret it.”

Roger ignores him, taking a step towards the knight. “Sire,” he addresses him, clenching his fists to hide the trembling. “My sister Clare is barely fifteen, she’s not even had her first heat – she’s not a proper omega yet,” he reasons desperately. Clare makes a noise, but she’s being shielded by their mother, kept back. Good.

“A deal is a deal,” he is informed. “The king has already paid for her.”

“I know,” he says as demurely as possible, bowing his head. “But – I am an omega too, I’ve had heats since I was fourteen, and I swear I’m a virgin. I know my – my duties,” he stutters over the last word. “She’s still a child,” he begs. “Please.”

“Boy,” the knight sighs. “This isn’t a mating proposal. You’d be sold into slavery – for life. And a possible candidate for the celebration – a devotee.”

“I know,” Roger says, blinking back tears. “Just – _please_ , not my sister.”

“You miserable runt,” his father hisses. “Get back inside, _now_ – my good Sir, I am so sorry –“ The knight holds up a hand, silencing his father effectively. Roger sees the knight exchange a look with the other, before he sighs again.

“The deal was for an omega child of your household for the festivities – and while the king _does_ like them young, your son should do just as well.”

“But –“ his father tries to protest, face almost purple. “I intended for him to be mated to the miller’s boy –“

“You’re volunteering, though, aren’t you?” The knight addresses Roger, sounding bored now.

“Yes, Sire,” Roger says, squaring his shoulders.

“Roger, _please_ –“ Clare sobs out, trying to reach for him, only to be held back by their mother, face ashen.

“See?” The knight addresses Roger’s father. “You’ll still get your money.”

Roger’s father looks mutinous, but for all his threats of violence, Roger knows that deep down, he is a coward, and would never dare oppose the decision of a King’s knight. “You may have him,” he spits out, eyes flashing to Roger. “Good luck with him.” With that, he turns on his heels, storming inside the house. In the same moment, Clare throws herself at Roger, completely distraught, sobbing into his chest.

“ _How could you_?!” She screams, banging her tiny fists into his chest. “You were supposed to – to get away from here, to be _free_ ,” she blubbers, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Not – not to be sacrificed for some – some barbaric ritual–“

“Shh,” he shushes her, eyeing the knights warily. “None of that, now, baby,” he soothes her, hugging her close, forcing his own tears back. “Do you think I’d let them to that to you?”

“’s not _fair_!” she wails, wrapping around him like a leech. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” he says numbly. “But come on, what’s the odds I’d even get chosen in the first place, hm? I’ll probably be overlooked for someone prettier, younger.”

“You’d still be an omega slave in court,” she sniffles. Roger closes his eyes briefly.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky, and catch someone’s eye, yeah? Get mated? It happens.” Rarely.

“Boy, you got ten minutes to pack your things and say goodbye,” the knight informs him, not entirely unkindly. “We have others to pick up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Roger nods, forcibly untangling himself from his sister, before he turns to face his mother. “Mum –“

“Roger, sweetheart,” she says, voice choked, but she doesn’t cry. His father has long since beaten any tears out of her.

“Mum, promise me you won’t let him do anything bad to Clare, please,” he implores. “Find her someone kind.”

“I’ll try. Oh, my sweet little sunshine –“ she begins, reaching out, but he shakes his head. If he hugs her now, he’ll never let her go again. She looks hurt, but seems to understand, her arms falling listlessly to her side. “I’ll pray to the Gods that only good fortune may befall you,” she words carefully, mindful of the knights still in earshot.

“Thank you, mother,” Roger sniffs.

He doesn’t say anything to his father when he steps inside of his home for the last time; neither does his father. They haven’t had anything to say to each other since Roger was a child.

.

When they ride off, with Roger tossed in the cart with his hands bound so he doesn’t run (as if he isn’t aware of the consequences if he would), he doesn’t look back when his home slowly disappears from view, when his little village he’s spent all his life in is left behind, for good.

They spend three days on the road, picking up more omega children on the way – and they _are_ all children, between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, half of them not having had their first heat yet, like Clare. They’re all terrified, trembling and huddling together. They eye Roger curiously, but none of them dare approach him; most of them don’t even speak to each other.

.

By nightfall of the third day, they’ve reached the capital, its enormous castle standing proudly in the middle of it. The castle-town is bustling with people, more than Roger has ever seen. He’s overwhelmed by the myriads of new smells and sounds, of the way the town doesn’t seem to quieten even after dark.

They’re led up a side-entrance to the castle, where Roger assumes the slave-quarters are. Two slaves, dressed in expensive silks, greet the knights with deep bows, as a man steps forward, likely their master.

“Finally,” the balding man grouses, beady blue eyes eyeing up Roger and the rest of the children. “Took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

“I apologize, Lord Foster,” one of the knights says. “The road is long, and we have precious cargo.” Cargo – as if they were pottery, and not _people_ , Roger thinks disdainfully, but takes care not to let anything show on his face.

“Fine, fine,” Lord Foster waves off derisively. “The King is eager to inspect the potential devotees,” he lectures, and Roger winces, remembering just _why_ the king had called for the prettiest omegas throughout the kingdom. “You two,” he barks at his slaves, who hurry to his side, heads still bowed. “Get them cleaned up and something to eat, and put them with the others. Give them training collars for now,” he adds thoughtfully, stroking his scraggly beard. “They’re still bitches in training, after all.” He laughs at his own joke, and some of the knights behind them titter as well.

Roger sees the children flinch and one or two have tears in their eyes.

Roger already hates this Lord.

.

Roger also hates his fucking collar; it’s coarse leather, too tight and itchy, and Roger isn’t used to one. The room smells overbearingly of scared omega, making Roger’s heart ache.

At least, he’s clean and fed, as are the other ones, and he’s wearing a clean robe out of plain cotton, though he wishes they were allowed trousers.

He startles when a small hand touches his shin, looking down to look at big brown eyes. “S-sorry,” the girl says nervously. “It’s just – can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Roger says, bemused.

“Is it true that – that you _chose_ to come here?” She asks him, eyes wide.

“Yes and no – I volunteered instead of my little sister, you know?” She gasps, and the looks she, and several other children shoot him are almost _reverent_.

“You’re so brave,” another boy tells him, closer to Roger’s age. “Weren’t you terrified?”

“’course,” he says. “Still am.”

“Why?” Another boy asks, younger. “You’re too old for the King’s liking – everyone knows he likes them young. You won’t get chosen to – to –“ he trails off, too scared to speak out their impeding fate.

“But he’s really pretty,” a girl from the far back speaks up. “He also likes the pretty ones.”

Roger looks up to the stone ceiling, a pained look in his face.

“Doesn’t matter what we think,” the older boy from before says sourly. “We’re just here for their amusement, one way or another.”

That quickly shuts them all up. An uneasy hush settles in the room, and they all lie down onto their thin bedrolls, having to share blankets.

Roger barely manages to sleep that night, torn between not wanting to be chosen, to be free, and wanting to help the children in this room, doomed to the same fate as him.

He decides whatever happens, he’ll see it through – for Clare.

.

The next morning, they’re herded out of their room after breakfast, passing the slave and servant quarters, before they’re entering the part of the castle clearly designated for the nobility, and unfortunately, they’re attracting quite the onlookers; all noble alphas, some even from the royal family. Most are content to ogle the passing gaggle of omegas, but some whistle here and there, making lewd comments.

The other children are clearly unsure of what to do, huddling close, but Roger is content to shoot the few making exceptionally lewd suggestion about the younger ones a nasty glare; clearly, the sleazy alphas don’t expect it, rearing back at the venom in his eyes.

Eventually, they’re led to the King’s private wing, where, other than a few attendants, the corridors are empty. Foster meets them just outside the King’s private chambers, patting one of the children on the head with what is probably supposed to be an encouraging smile.

“Now, this is a very important moment in your lives – one of you lucky omegas will be chosen to carry our next heir, the ‘Child of All’,” he begins pompously. “This is a high honor, and I expect you all to be on your best conduct – you will all be on your knees, and only look at the King should he address any of you directly – are we clear?” There’s ice in his voice, and Roger quickly mumbles out a demure assent along the others. “Well, then,” Foster says, sounding jovial again. “Shall we?”

A guard opens the door, announcing their arrival, and they’re all shuffled inside, Foster pointing to a corner, where they all kneel hastily, heads bowed.

Seemingly an eternity passes, before Roger hears steps, heavy boots coming into view to stand in front of them.

“This is quite a picking, my good Lord Foster,” the King says, clearly pleased. His voice is deep and imposing, and judging from the steps, he must have quite some height and muscle on him. He begins to walk back and forth in front of them, assessing them. “Well done.”

“You honor me, my King,” Foster says, sounding excited, bowing deeply to the King.

“Which one’s the youngest?” The King asks, and Roger feels bile rise in his throat. Foster grips one of the smaller children by the arm, tugging her to her feet. She can’t be a day over fourteen, Roger thinks, hate burning in his lungs. The King hums thoughtfully, and Roger can see the poor girl trying not to cry. “Look at me, child,” the King demands, and Roger can see her lift her head from the corner of his eyes.

“Does she please you, my King?” Foster asks eagerly.

“A pretty thing,” the King says. “But dull eyes – I do believe the omega carrying our kingdom’s heir should be a little more lively.”

“In that case,” Foster is hasty to add, dropping the girl carelessly, who sinks to the floor again, face alight with relief. “I do have a volunteer for you, your Majesty.”

Roger knows what’s coming, and lets himself be dragged upwards, suppressing a shudder, keeping his head bowed.

“He’s tall – how old is he?” The King asks, stroking his beard.

“Just eighteen, my King,” Foster replies. “He volunteered in place of his younger sister, the knights told me.”

“Oh, a volunteer? Well then,” the King sounds intrigued. “Look at me, omega,” the King demands, and Roger looks up slowly.

The King is past his prime, with greying hair and yellow teeth, but Roger thinks that in his youth, he must’ve been handsome – if not for his penchant for children, that is.

“Oh, he’s a beauty,” the King says admiringly, reaching out to stroke over his leather collar, then his collarbones. “And I do love me a spitfire,” he laughs. “What’s your name, sweet thing?”

Roger swallows every vile reply that pops into his mind, forcing them back, putting a smile on that is just this side of too sharp. “Roger Taylor, your Majesty,” he replies, looking into the King’s eyes unflinchingly.

The King just hums again, hand wandering lower, over his chest, and Roger does an admirable job of holding still, instead of biting his fingers off.

“Roger,” the King purrs. “Take off your robe; show us how lovely you are, then.”

Roger feels himself freeze for a moment, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath _For Clare_ , he repeats to himself, and tugs the plain robe off over his head.

Then, he stands naked in a room full of strangers, and he locks his knees, so he doesn’t curl into himself.

He can feel both the King and Foster leer at him, eyes roaming over his naked skin. The King rubs a hand over one of Roger’s nipples, and Roger tries to stifle the gasp threatening to escape – not quite successful, as the King chuckles in amusement.

“Look at how eager he is,” he tells Foster, who nods, eyes glued to Roger’s cock hungrily. “In the end, all omegas are the same; they can put their heels in and cry _no_ all they want, but by the end of the day, they’re all wanton little bitches, waiting to be mounted.”

Roger grits his teeth, biting his tongue, before he says anything that might cost him his head, or Clare’s.

“I’d like to inspect the others first, but I think this one made our choice quite easy,” the King says to Foster, who nods. “Sweet thing, you can go kneel over there, then,” he tells Roger, pointing to another corner. Roger sighs, both in relief and in defeat, going to pick up his robe.

“Oh, no,” Foster tuts. “You won’t need that anymore,” he tells Roger, who clenches his fists, marching over to the area pointed out to him.

“Such a beauty,” the King marvels again. “I wonder if his sister is as beautiful as he is?” Roger freezes, looking up, but the King is idly fondling one of the older teens, eyes on Foster.

“I do not know, my King,” Foster says apologetically.

“Well, he’ll suffice, for now,” the King shrugs.

Roger’s fists tighten so much his nails cut through skin.

.

He’s not the only one chosen for ‘further inspection’, the King having chosen three others as well. This doesn’t do much do give Roger hope for his own fate, however; the way the King looked at him doesn’t sit well with him.

None of them are given back their robes, leaving them bare for the world to see.

They’re brought to a large chamber, filled to the brim with shelves full of poultices, tomes, all sorts of herbs and strange looking instruments. Five physicians enter, four in their uniform, and a fifth, still quite young with warm hazel eyes and wild curls, holding a scroll and a quill.

The physicians direct them onto tables, tying their ankles there, so their legs are spread wide. Roger shifts, uncomfortable. The young physician smiles apologetically, and Roger thinks he has a kind smile.

“Don’t be afraid. This health exam is just to determine if you’re all healthy, how far away your next – or first – heat is, if you’re still virgins –“

“You don’t need to coddle them,” one of the other physicians snaps at him. “They’re omega slaves, and the sooner they learn their place, the better.” The young physician bows his head, biting his lip.

Another physician steps close to Roger, unceremoniously spreading his legs wider apart, before inserting something slim into him, making Roger grunt in discomfort.

“Subject; omega, Name; Roger,” he drones, looking down at the instrument shoved inside Roger. “Temperature average, indicating –“

.

The exam is horrible, invasive, and they’ve all had five different instruments inserted to measure various things deemed important. They’ve been measured and weighed, and asked a plethora of uncomfortable questions.

One of the other omegas has been identified to not have been a virgin anymore, the boy flushing in shame, but they all paled when the attending physician had told one of the guards to have him flogged, and to put him with the other ‘used omega whores’.

Roger knows that omegas are treated horribly all over the kingdom, that they are at the very bottom of the food chain, but, this – this is _cruel_.

They’re informed that until the King has chosen his favorite and the favorite has been approved by the royal council, they will be examined every day, their diet strictly monitored, as they’re all underfed.

New chambers have been appointed to them, still tiny, but with an actual window, letting the sunlight stream in. Roger sits on his improved bedroll, fingering the copper collar he’d been given to wear over his leather one. Most sex slaves of the nobility wore silver, and the royal ones wore gold. Copper collars were for the middle class, or for free use in a castle. The leather indicating they were still in training.

Like dogs.

Roger longingly gazes out of the barred window, briefly wishing he could open it to fling himself off the tower they’re in, before he shakes his head. The threat of what happens if he doesn’t do as told is clear; they’ll simply get Clare.

He can hold out.

He’ll have to.

.

Two days pass with them locked in their chamber, only let out for their daily exams, until the King sends for Roger – and only him.

“I’m sorry,” one of the omega girls tells him with sorrow in her eyes.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, following the impatient guard outside mechanically.

The other two girls won’t be there when he gets back.

.

“Ah, there he is,” the King smiles, waving the guard away after Roger is brought in. “Come, kneel by my side, omega,” he continues, pointing to his feet, as if it’s a grand honor.

Roger goes, having little other choice. As soon as he’s settled next to the King, shivering because of the cold stone floor, the King begins to pet through his hair, tugging here and there.

“You really are quite exquisite,” the King tells him. “It’s hard to find beauty in between all the plain-faced peasants, but you’re quite a lucky omega,” he continues. Roger doesn’t feel lucky. “But I’m not quite sure if you’re right for the celebrations, sweet thing.”

Roger remains quiet, but the King tugs him backwards by his head, and Roger chokes out a painful gasp; the King seems to read it as one of pleasure, because he tugs him upwards by his hair until he stands in front of the King, in all his naked, miserable glory.

“I think,” the King purrs, stroking over the back of his thighs, slowly upwards. “I’d like to see how devoted you are, little omega.” The Kings hand has reached Roger’s bare arse, kneading the flesh there. Roger shudders, out of disgust but also – no one has ever touched him like this; Roger has never _let_ them, and it’s an entirely new sensation. “On the bed, hands and knees,” the King says, and his voice is still pleased, but the command is clear.

With only half a second of hesitance, Roger moves to obey, crawling onto the luxurious bed, decorated with silk and velvet, all in deep, rich colors, the bed big enough to easily fit five people, at the very least. Then Roger flinches as he feels the bed dip behind him.

“Lovely,” the King croons, his deep voice reverberating through Roger’s chest. “Present yourself, slave,” he demands, and Roger squeezes his eyes shut, forcing back tears of humiliation.

Omegas are only required to do that with their bonded mates, or when they’re about to be claimed.

This is simply for the King’s amusement.

But, as he moves to balance his body on his chest, back arched and arse high in the air, a thought strikes him. If the King fucks him now, _soils_ him, for lack of better term, Roger won’t be required to do the ritual, to get _bred_ by the whole court, for everyone to see.

This thought gives him incentive enough to reach back and spread his cheeks for the King, his hole on display like he’s a _whore_ , only for the King’s appraisal, even as his face heats.

The bed dips again, and the weight behind Roger shifts closer, and Roger twitches in surprise at the sudden thumb on his hole, shockingly warm as it rubs over the tight ring of muscle.

“Such a perfect little slut,” the King says, other hand wandering down further to fondle Roger’s balls, tease along his cock. Roger can’t help but choke out a moan, partly swallowed by the embroidered cushions as he’s touched by someone else, _for the very first time_. “Spread your legs a bit wider, won’t you?” the King demans.

“Y-your majesty,” Roger moans out, tries for alluring as he complies, knees sliding further apart. “ _Please_ ,” he says, body trembling. He doesn’t _want_ to get fucked by this horrible man, doesn’t want to get fucked by _anyone_ in this place, doesn’t want the life of a _slave_ – but it would be a _life_ , at the very least.

One he could escape from, later, when Clare would be mated, would be _safe_.

It’s better than being forced to carry the next heir, only to get sacrificed as a thanks for his labor. Literally.

“Eager, aren’t you?” The King murmurs, and Roger jerks when he feels moist lips at the base of his spine, coarse beard scratchy against his most sensitive parts. “It’s a shame you’re not in heat yet – you’d be such a desperate little bitch,” he muses, pressing a kiss to Roger’s puckered hole, and Roger whines – mostly in miserable, horrified embarrassment.

The King seems to like his sounds well enough, shifting until his entire body is dwarfing Roger, blanketing him as he presses his crotch flush to Roger’s arse, breathing into Roger’s ear erratically. Roger turns away from the putrid stink coming from his mouth, forcing himself to lie still, keep his hands on his arse.

“Gods, what a find you are,” the King grunts rutting against Roger slowly. He’s still clothed, but Roger can feel his bulge press against his arse regardless. “Fucking eager whore, can’t help yourself wanting to spread your legs for your King, hm?” His rutting becomes quicker, more powerful as his girth forces Roger down, now laying almost flat on the bed. “Wish I could fuck you, right now.”

“Your m- _ah_!” Roger grunts out, dizzy from the overbearing scent of _alpha_. “You can, _please_ –“ _Please just fuck me proper and get it over with_ , Roger thinks a little desperately. The King just chuckles, nipping at Roger’s ear, continuing to rut against him with powerful thrusts as he grunts into Roger’s ear.

To Roger’s horror, he can feel himself get slick – not nearly as much as he would be when in heat, or close to one, but his body reacts to the stimulation, his cock twitching traitorously between his legs.

The King moans loudly when he feels Roger’s slick wet his breeches, grabbing at Roger’s hips painfully. “Look at you, getting all wet like a good little omega slut,” the King growls, holding Roger in place as he continues to rut against him. “Can’t wait to fuck you.”

‘ _Then fucking do it_ ,’ Roger thinks, _begs_ internally, but the King _doesn’t_ , content to grind into Roger until his hips stutter and Roger mewls pathetically at the sharp teeth grazing his skin at the back of his neck as the King comes, his breeches dampening.

Roger gets almost squashed by the heavy weight of the King collapsing on top of him, feeling every erratic breath of the monarch against his back. He breathes a little sigh of relief as the King gets off him, but the relief doesn’t last long as he’s tugged upwards to kneel, this time by his collar, turned to face the King.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you, omega?” The King grins lewdly, tugging Roger closer. “Desperate for an alpha to knot you, to breed you, hm?”

Roger shudders at the very image, but he forces himself to look down demurely, instead as spitting into the King’s face. “Yes, your majesty,” he says as softly as he can manage, trying for the same tone of voice his mother used on his father.

It seems to work, at least, because the King’s smirk grows. “I know you did, pretty thing,” he says to Roger. “Look at the mess you made,” he adds, pointing at his crotch, the breeches soiled with come and Roger’s own slick.

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” Roger simpers, biting his lips so hard they begin to bleed.

“I could forgive you, I suppose,” the King says, continuing to play up the little charade. “And I can see you’ve enjoyed yourself as well.” A rough hand cups his cock, making Roger rut into it, eyes fluttering even as he flushes in humiliated anger. “How about you clean me up, all nice with that pretty mouth of yours?”

Roger knows it isn’t a suggestion. But he still has some hope, albeit dwindling, that the King might fuck him tonight, so Roger puts on a sweet face and crawls forward between the King’s legs, hesitatingly reaching out for the King’s breeches.

“Go right ahead, don’t play coy,” the King winks, and Roger would like nothing more than to bite his cock off. Instead, he unlaces the breeches slowly, the Kings cock springing free, already softening. He leans down, and, suppressing a shudder, begins to lick cautiously at it, not quite able to hide the face he makes at the taste.

The King laughs at him. “First alpha cock, eh? That’s alright, give us a little lick, hm? Get used to the taste.” Roger nods, closing his eyes so he’s at least spared to see anything, mouthing at the fat cock, tongue darting out here and there to lick up some of the come, trying his best to clean up the soiled cock quickly.

The smell is almost too much, too intense for Roger’s sensitive nose, but he soldiers through this, trying his best to get the King hard again, but at his age, it seems his refractory period is longer, though the aging monarch is clearly enjoying himself.

“You don’t seem to know how to do it, omega,” the King speaks up, and Roger stops. “You should be touching yourself as well, after all, there’s nothing more arousing for little omega bitches than having an alpha cock near, hm?”

“Y-yes, your majesty,” Roger stutters, hesitatingly reaching down to palm at his half-hard cock, moaning against the flesh of the King’s cock as he squeezes around his own.

“There we are,” the King praises. “And you did a good job cleaning up my cock, but my breeches are still soaked with your slick.”

The urge to gnaw the offending cock off is almost overwhelming, and Roger keeps his eyes lowered so the King doesn’t see his glare. The King moves his cock to the side, giving Roger better access to the come-stained fabric, and Roger breathes through his nose, before he licks at the fabric, the texture strange and unwelcome against his tongue, only accentuating the vile taste of come even more.

But, Roger forces himself to make quick work of it, not letting up until he tastes nothing but fine linen, the taste of his own slick and the King’s come now gone from the fabric. His hand is still on his own cock, moving slowly.

He lets the King cup his chin, tugging him up, offering no resistance. “I’m very pleased, omega,” the King says proudly, thumbing at his lower lip. “I normally don’t indulge my sex slaves, but how about you crawl on my leg, relieve yourself a little? I’d like to see what face you make when you come, just from humping my leg.”

The King says it like it’s a great gift, only offered to his favorite omega slaves, but Roger can’t help but think that the King gets off of his humiliation, to watch an omega have no choice but debase themselves to the definition most alphas think they are; wanton sluts just waiting to be fucked.

A quiver passes through him, but Roger knows that there is no choice for him in this. If he doesn’t obey, there will undoubtedly be consequences, and he’s terrified they’ll ride out to nab Clare, to force her through the same ordeal just to punish him for his insolence. And so, he moves to straddle one of the King’s meaty thighs, hands hovering in the air, unsure where to put them.

The King takes his hands, pulling them around his neck, inevitably bringing Roger close to the King’s face. “Go on,” the King breathes, foul breath hitting Roger’s face, and he suppresses a sob as he starts to rut against the King’s thigh timidly. The King sighs impatiently, gripping his arse and moving him forth and back his thigh more firmly. Roger gasps quietly as the head of his cock brushes against the King’s stomach ever so often, his legs quivering at the way his still-slick hole is stimulated by the friction.

“Filthy slut,” the King chuckles darkly when he feels more slick soaking the fabric where Roger is rutting against him. “Gagging for it, are you?” Roger doesn’t get a chance to reply, one hand leaving his arse as it twists into his hair, pulling him for a dirty kiss, and Roger gags, trying to hide his disgust. “Come on,” the King grunts into his open mouth.

Roger whimpers as a coarse hand wraps around his cock, the King apparently having become impatient, jerking him off quickly, the hand too dry and to rough, pain now lacing with Roger’s reluctant pleasure. But, along with the heavy scent of an aroused alpha, the stimulation of his leaking hole, Roger is overruled by his own biology, coming with a drawn-out gasp, greedily swallowed by the King.

“There you are, omega,” the King says, pulling him close to his chest. Roger heaves out ragged breaths, eyes wide, unseeing as his body still twitches from the aftershocks. “This is who you really are.” The King noses at his neck, inhaling deeply, moaning at Roger’s scent. Dimly, Roger hopes the King would bite him, mark him, _claim him_ , making him unfit for the celebrations, but no such luck; apparently, the King has more control than that, the hundreds of omega slaves likely having hardened him against such impulses.

“The way you smell, pretty slave,” the King growls, inhaling a last time before pulling back. “All eager and desperate,” he grins dangerously. “And look at that, you’ve soiled me _again_ ,” he tuts.

“I apologize, your majesty,” Roger croaks out, keeping his eyes averted.

“I know you are,” the King says indulgently. “I think you should clean up your mess, though, hm?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Roger says, feeling defeated. The King watches as he scoots back, kneeling on the bed again as he lowers his mouth to the fabric of the breeches, but the King holds out his hand, still covered in Roger’s come.

Roger stifles a helpless sob and moves to obey.

.

Hours later, he stumbles out of the King’s chamber. Roger feels filthy down to the core, not only for what he did but what he’d done on his own, to try and get the King to fuck him. The King had certainly enjoyed his obedience and forced eagerness, but his cock hadn’t even gone anywhere near Roger’s slick hole.

A guard approaches him cautiously, no doubt to take him back. “You’re Roger, right?” The guard asks, surprising Roger by addressing him by his name, and the gentle, hesitant way he speaks to him. His alpha scent is subtle, not overbearing and cloying, instead warm, soothing.

“Yes,” he croaks out, throat sore from trying not to cry.

“I’m your appointed knight,” the guard – the _knight_ says. “I am to escort you to your chamber.”

“Appointed knight?” Roger frowns. “What for?”

“For your protection. It comes with your new – erm, your new status,” the knight explains, sounding almost apologetic.

His new status, right.

His new status as the kingdom’s breeding bitch. Roger looks down, clenching his fists.

The knight doesn’t seem hurried, simply waiting.

“Aren’t you supposed to take me to my chamber?” Roger asks tiredly when the knight doesn’t make any move to force him along.

“Well,” the knight shrugs. “I’m more supposed to follow you anywhere you go, make sure you’re safe.”

“Great, a lost puppy,” Roger mutters under his breath, before shrinking under the knights gaze. However, the guard just laughs quietly, to Roger’s astonishment; it’s not a cruel laugh either, but a melodic, amused one.

“Not entirely false,” the knight replies. “We should leave the King’s wing, though,” he adds, casting an unreadable look to the guards at the closed door which leads to the King’s chambers.

Roger nods, turning to quickly stride away, the knight closely following him. “If I jump off the castle walls, would you let me?” He wonders, not quite joking.

The knight doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure I can make up a story about how you stabbed me and how fast you can run.”

Roger stops dead in his tracks, whirling around to look at the knight, mouth hanging open.

“I have an omega sister I love very much,” the knight says softly, barely above a whisper. “She could’ve been chosen as well, had she not a slight birth deformity.”

“But – but you’re a noble!” Roger says.

“You think everyone picked as a potential devotee is of peasant stock?” John asks, something biting in his tone; it’s not directed at Roger, however.

“I – I didn’t know –“

“So,” the knight speaks. “If you’d want to make a run for it, right now –“ He trails off, grey-green eyes on Roger, unreadable, but understanding.

For a moment, one glorious beat of his heart, Roger thinks he can get out of this, can run, can be _free_.

Then reality hits Roger like he’s doused in ice-water.

“I have a sister, too,” he says, voice hollow. “She was intended originally – she’s still not mated, I – I _can’t_.”

“I understand,” the knight says, voice warm, full of knowing sorrow. “Then I will stay by your side, as long as I’m able,” he says solemnly. “I’m afraid I cannot make a vow of protection, though – not from what you ought to be protected from, in any case.”

“Thank you,” Roger says earnestly, through tears. It’s cold comfort, but at least he doesn’t feel completely abandoned, now. “What’s your name?”

The knight remains quiet for a long moment, before his shoulders sag. “John.”

“Hello, John,” Roger says, smiling a weak, miserable smile. “I am pleased to meet you. I’d wish it were under different circumstances.”

“So do I,” the knight - _John_ says quietly. “Come, we shouldn’t linger here.”

John guides him gently through the halls, a surprising, but welcome presence at Roger’s side – one Roger hadn’t dared hope for.

.

John is like a second shadow, never far from Roger – only absent in the mornings, when he likely goes to sleep, a different, dour-faced guard replacing him in that time. The next few days pass in a similar fashion than before, except that he’s not called by the King any more, a small reprieve.

However, the daily medical exams still take place, the five physicians now crowding him (though the curly-haired physician with the build of a beanstring stays to the side with a pinched face, taking notes).

In addition, they’re forcing him to ingest some herbal potion, vile and bitter, the aftertaste lingering for hours.

“It’s to increase fertility, chances of conception when you go into heat,” one physician says when Roger asks.

Roger isn’t an idiot; he knows about herbs well enough, since he was little and mixed various remedies with his mother, with her explaining each herb and its uses to him.

They’re for inducing his heat early.

John turns a blind eye when he makes himself puke up the contents of his stomach after each visit, handing him a kerchief to wipe his mouth.

“It will only delay the inevitable,” John tells him after the third day.

It’s not as if Roger doesn’t _know_.

.

On the fourth day after that night in the King’s chambers, Lord Foster comes personally to fetch him. Roger’s stomach churns violently, only made worse at the sight of the golden chain in his hand, which he’s gleeful to fasten to Roger’s collar.

He’s guided to a small room, where he’s commanded to kneel, the Lord sitting down on a comfortable chair in front of him, sipping on some wine. His only comfort is John, who is standing a few feet away, watching him closely.

“Now, slave,” Foster begins, a tickle of wine trickling down his beard, his beady eyes greedily on Roger. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I – to be presented to the council, to see if – if –“

“If you’ll be approved of the majority, yes,” Foster says. “Though I have little doubt you’ll fall through; they’ll all be quite taken by you,” he chuckles, leaning forward. “Do you have an idea what’s going to happen, next?”

“The – the celebration –“

“- where you’ll be given the honor to serve your Kingdom? That will be later, at the summer solstice, which is in two weeks,” the Lord informs him, looking at him thoughtfully. “Do you know why the festivities take place in this manner in the first place?”

‘ _Because you nobles take savage pleasure of an omega being stripped of their humanity_ ,’ Roger thinks viciously, but keeps his head lowered. “No, my Lord,” he says, keeping his voice soft.

“Well, I suppose the history is not common knowledge to the peasants; it happens only once every generation, after all,” Foster says derisively. “Would you like a history lesson? It’s important to understand how our virtuous traditions come from, and your place in all this.”

It’s not like listening to Foster’s fanatic drivel would change Roger’s fate, but he nods regardless.

“Well then,” Foster sounds, sounding mildly pleased. “Centuries ago, this country was a war-torn battlefield, and the nobles were squabbling for whose line was purest, who would be most fit to succeed the last monarch, each generation creating new conflict, each family thinking they had the right to rule, and all of this petty squabble carried out on the back of the common folk.

“And then,” Foster sounds proud, almost rapturous. “An alpha queen rose, from a minor house, but winning the throne in battle, her blood just enough to shakily support her victory.”

“Queen Mary,” Roger says quietly, knowing this part of the story.

“Ah, you’re a bright one,” Foster praises absentmindedly. “Yes; she knew that when she died, the country would be anew at war, no matter if she left an heir or not. So she called all of the noble families together, to discuss the future of their – _our_ kingdom. Our ancestors decided eventually that, as long as the succession was simply a matter of blood, there would always be unrest, a race for blood purity, and we all know what kind of rulers that produces,” he snorts disdainfully. And, at least in this, Roger can agree; there are dozens of kingdoms with horribly inbred families, their ruler barely able walk, at times, unsound of mind.

“They decided that when the ruler of this kingdom is past their prime, an omega will be chosen by the current monarch, to carry the new heir. And to prevent families scrabbling over the omega and their infant child, this child must be one of the people; one of all.”

“The Child of All,” Roger says, exhaling tremulously.

Foster claps his hand, beaming. It makes Roger feel worse. “Bright little omega, truly,” he marvels, reaching out to pet Roger like a _dog_. “You are to be chosen for this.”

“I know,” Roger presses out. Really, this was just rubbing salt into the wound.

“It’s important you know what’s expected of you,” Foster continues. “Only exemplary conduct is accepted; anything less will have its consequences.” Roger nods. “Once the council has chosen in your favor, you will be prepared until the summer solstice. We expect you to go into heat by then,” and there’s a clear warning there, and Roger swallows, panicked.

“Yes, my Lord,” he says quietly, lip quivering. Foster smiles at him, a cold, knowing one.

“Before the celebrations, you’ll be brought to the King, just before your heat starts,” Foster continues. “As I’m sure you know, conception isn’t likely before a heat, so the King has First Right to you in the days before; you’ll spread your legs like a good, obedient little omega, won’t you?”

Roger croaks, nodding, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Very good,” Foster says, caressing Roger’s cheek. Roger is too overwhelmed to even fantasize about retaliation. “I don’t really enjoy the feisty ones, like you,” Foster tells him off-topic. “But exceptions can be made,” he chuckles, hand moving lower to caress Roger’s neck, tugging at his collar.

“You will be taken care of until you bear the kingdom its next alpha heir,” Foster continues.

“What if it’s a beta? Or – or an omega?” Roger asks, voice sharp.

“Well, the Gods have granted us alpha rulers only in six-hundred years; I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about such matters,” Foster tuts at him, tightening his grip around Roger’s throat for a second. “You must pray for an alpha child, hm? Nothing else is useful– well, I suppose an omega brat could be put to use, at the very least,” Foster leers. “But,” he continues, somber all of a sudden. “You’ve been chosen, omega. Pray, and the Gods will hear you.”

Roger is tempted to tell Foster he’ll pray for a beta or omega, just to spite him, but –

They’ll put the child to death, or to slavery, like him, and Roger will be powerless about any of it.

And then they’ll get his sister in his place, just to spite his corpse in turn.

“Yes, my Lord,” Roger grits out, eyes lowered.

“There we are,” Foster purrs. “Remember, you’ve volunteer to serve your kingdom, and you’ve been granted a great honor; do that and you’ll be fine, I’m sure.” His hand wanders lower over Roger’s naked body, stopping just shy of his cock. “I’ll look forward to your continued service,” he chuckles.

They’re interrupted by an attendant, announcing that the council is now ready to welcome the chosen candidate of the King.

Foster tugs him up by his chain, following the attendant before Roger can ask what Foster means.

.

Apparently, being appraised by the council means Roger has to stand in the middle of the room while all the alpha members circle him, touch him, force him to bend over.

“An exquisite one,” a Lady says. She’s introduced as Lady Sutcliffe, in her mid-forties and thus past her prime, like most alphas in the council. She’s especially ruthless in examining him, holding him in place as she rubs at his hole with a finger, uncaring as Roger flinches in her hold.

“I thought so as well,” the King tells her, the only one who has remained in his seat.

“Of course you chose this one to be broken in by yourself, cousin” Sutcliffe tells the King boldly. “Where’s he from?”

“A small village in the west, near the border,” Foster supplies from the sidelines.

“Well,” the Lady laughs, turning to Roger, gripping his chin, making him look into her watery brown eyes. “If there’s any more beauties like this there, I’ll definitely have to take some respite in the countryside,” she smiles, and the Lords and Ladies titter around her, no one caring about the trembling omega in their midst.

Only one pair of eyes looks at him, a silent apology shining in them, and Roger is thankful John is here, even if he can’t help Roger.

“He should do,” another Lady speaks up, her hand leaving where she’s been fondling Roger’s cock. “Look at the thing, all eager already,” she points to his half-hard cock, and Roger feels tears threatening to spill at the burning spike of humiliation.

“Of course he is,” a Lord speaks, hobbling back to his seat. “He’s an omega slave – one that volunteered, or so I hear,” he says dismissively.

“Indeed,” the King agrees, hungry eyes still on Roger. “Now, my dear council – are we in agreement?”

.

Roger knows he’ll never be able to rub the feel of their hands on him off him – it’s permanently etched into his brain.

“Here,” John says quietly, wrapping his cloak around his shoulder as they walk back to Roger’s chamber. The simple gesture of kindness is enough to bring fresh tears into Roger’s eyes, and he sniffles.

“You shouldn’t,” he says weakly, even as he wraps the simple wool cloak around him, both for warmth and to shield him from prying eyes.

“My job is to keep you safe,” John says, eyes ahead as he guides Roger as quickly as he manages through the halls. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

“Thank you,” Roger sniffs.

“Please don’t – don’t thank me,” John says, teeth clenched. They arrive at Roger’s chamber, and John quickly ushers him inside, closing the door. “Roger –“

“I hate them,” Roger speaks softly. “I hate them _all_.” He’s never meant anything more than these words.

“I know,” John says, guiding him to his bed, sitting him down. “I wish – I wish I could –“

“’s okay,” Roger says, closing his eyes. John’s hands are warm on his shoulder, scent comforting.

“It’s really not. Roger,” he starts, before cutting off. “If – if you were mated –“

“What, are you offering?” Roger snorts humorlessly. “Besides, they’d kill you. And it would still leave my sister vulnerable.”

John doesn’t say anything else.

“But thanks,” Roger says, looking up at him with a grimace. “Guess you’ll get the chance to have a go at me soon enough,” he jokes.

“That’s not –“ John speaks up, face horrified, furious. _Helpless_.

God, if only Roger had met him before all of this.

“I know,” Roger assures him. “I just – I just want to forget about today.”

“If I can do anything for you – if you ever change your mind –“

“Sure,” Roger says weakly. “Appreciate it.”

“And I swear, I’ll never touch you unless you want me to,” John adds.

“Just –“ Roger sighs, looking up at the stone ceiling. “Stay with me? Through all of this?”

“I swear,” John says immediately, kneeling in front of Roger, and taking his hands in his broad ones. His touch is incredibly gentle for a knight.

.

Like a _good little omega_ , he takes the potion from the physicians, without throwing them up afterwards. He lets them prod and poke at him, tries to ignore the way they talk about him like one would a brood-mare, tries not to flinch when they finger him, prodding at his glands there, making notes. None of the physicians ever calls him by his name or even really looks at him – except one.

“You’re showing signs of fatigue,” the kind one tells him, head full of curls tilted in question. “Are you not sleeping well?”

“Nightmares,” is all Roger offers him, and the beta physician nods, eyes softening even further.

“I see,” he says kindly, for once not making a note on his scroll, detailing every excruciating detail about Roger’s body. “I could give you something to let you sleep without dreams, if you’d like.”

“I – that would be – be appreciated,” he says. None of the physicians cares about how he fares in mind, but this one clearly does. John comforts him through the worst ones, but there’s only so much he can do for Roger; his scent cannot be on Roger, or he’d be replaced, and Roger dreads that above all else.

The man smiles, turning away to search through a cabinet, before handing a small phial to Roger. “Only three drops,” he warns him.

“Thanks, uhm –“

“Brian,” the beta – _Brian_ tells him with a toothy smile. “Roger, wasn’t it?” Roger nods. “I hope you’ll sleep better,” Brian says in his soft, lilting voice, before he turns around to hurry after the other physicians.

“See you tomorrow,” Roger says dumbly, after he’s already gone. He’s startled by John’s hand on his shoulder. “He seems nice,” Roger tells him.

“He is,” John nods as they leave the room. “He used to be a field physician, used to serve with me,” John adds at Roger’s questioning look.

“He was on the _field_?” Roger can’t help but ask, not able to imagine Brian anywhere near violence.

John grins. “He could be quite ferocious, but – he hated it. Used to eat at him more than the rest of us. He missed his books and the stars – he’s always been fascinated with the cosmos.”

.

Just a week before the summer solstice, Roger wakes up feeling warm – _too_ warm for his drafty chamber. He’s also feels familiar wetness between his legs, and closes his eyes in defeat.

“You look pale,” John comments as he follows him to his daily physical exam. “Everything alright?”

Roger doesn’t say anything, eyes unseeing. “I’m _warm_ ,” he whispers. “Slick.”

“ _Shit_ ,” John mutters, looking devastated.

“Well,” Roger says drily. “Seems like they succeeded.”

.

As soon as the physicians recognize he’s showing early signs of a pre-heat, the revelation sends them into a tizzy, bustling around Roger while one has run off to inform the King.

Roger is on his hands and knees for them, one holding him open while one tests how much slick he produces when aroused, expertly sinking to fingers into him. Roger stares at the high window, desperate to focus on something else as he’s groped and fondled, the physicians around him making notes of his state excitedly.

The only one keeping a neutral face is Brian, who dutifully takes notes of whatever the other physicians tell him. Their eyes meet once, and Brian looks away, a delicate frown marring his face.

“Good news, omega,” one of the elder physicians tells him. “You’re in perfect health, all but ready for your heat.” He turns to Brian. “Go get attendants – he must be prepared, made ready.”

Brian bows, ducking away and heading for the door. Interestingly, he stops briefly there, sharing a look with John, before he nods almost indistinctively, hurrying out the door.

“What a text-book example of an omega subject,” a physician marvels to the other. “I almost wish he weren’t to be our _deditus de regnum_. Imagine studying how much pups this one could squeeze out in his lifetime – truly marvelous.”

“Well, you’ll get your chance to _study_ all the different ways to fuck him, eh?” The other laughs.

“Still a shame,” the first one tuts, patting Roger’s hair. “Look at this obedient little tart. So eager his body went into heat with the lowest dose of inducers – made for the life chosen for him by the gods.”

They continue to discuss his _fortunate_ biology, but Roger can’t listen to another word, curling to his side as they finish up.

He just barely manages his mantra _‘for Clare’_.

.

John is a godsend, not asking any senseless questions about how he’s feeling, instead quickly hurrying him to his chamber.

When they arrive there, there’s a stranger waiting, dressed in the muted colors of an attendant, though there’s a fine bracelet wrapped around his upper arm, marking him as likely of noble descent, or from a very rich upper class family.

“Oh, thank the Gods it’s you, Fred,” John breathes out. “This is Freddie, he was with us in the war as well – finest bowman you’ll ever find,” he introduces the man to Roger.

“Stop blowing up sugar up my arse, darling,” Freddie says, winking, before his warm brown eyes turn solemn as he takes Roger in. “Hello, dear.”

The fact that John trusts this beta is enough to put Roger at ease, but he has little energy for pleasantries, feeling numb.

To his credit, Freddie doesn’t seem to be put out by his lack of greeting, eyes darting from John to Roger again.

“I’m terribly sorry – I know you must feel quite – overwhelmed,” Freddie tries, and Roger snorts. “I’ve been put in charge to see to your needs, and, ah – to prepare you for – well, you know.”

Roger did know.

“Does it have to be now?” John asks. “He’s –“

“I know, dear,” Freddie says, sounding sorrowful. “But I have direct orders – just let me take a few notes, I doubt anything else will happen for the next two days, preparing for the First Night and all.”

“Alright,” John says. “Just let’s get him inside –“

“He’s been appointed a new chamber – less drafty and dreary, closer to the King,” Freddie says, and Roger marvels how he speaks it with such reverence, like it’s a great honor, while his mouth looks like he’s bit into a lemon, eyes cold.

“Oh, for fuck’s – fine,” John grunts. “Roger,” he says gently. “I’m really sorry –“

“Let’s just go,” Roger says tiredly.

.

True to his word, Freddie asks him only a few questions about his preferred foods and other insignificant things after he’s lead him and John to Roger’s new, _lavish_ chamber.

It’s not _big_ , but it’s filled to the brim with soft pillows and blankets as well as a few sparkling, decorative trinkets. There’s sunlight filtering in from the big window, the window open, letting a fresh breeze in.

God, Roger barely even remembers the taste of fresh air.

“Now, colors, darling – I do need to know what colors to dress you up in –“

“Does it matter?” Roger snaps, feeling exhausted. “The King will just tear whatever I’m wearing off anyway.” Freddie purses his lips, but he looks sad, not angry at being snapped at, and Roger regrets it immediately.

“I’ll – I’ll pick something to go with your eyes then, alright?” Roger just nods. “And, you’ll get a few gifts during your – your months of servitude –“

“My months of _what_?” Roger asks, voice rising.

He’s met with ringing silence.

“No one told you?” Freddie asks, suddenly looking ill, casting an accusing glance at John.

“I thought you knew,” John says, looking just as ill as Freddie.

“Knew _what_?” Roger asks desperately, voice breaking as he jumps to his feet.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Freddie curses, kicking at a pillow. “Well, dear – oh, how do I say this?” He cries, shaking his head. “After the celebrations, after you’re with child, you’ll – you’ll still be –“

“You’ll still be a slave – devotee to the Kingdom,” John says, voice soft, but his tone bitter.

“No,” Roger says, unbelieving. No one answers, both John and Freddie looking at the floor. “No,” he moans out, sinking back to the bed. “I – I thought –“

“I’m so sorry, Roger,” Freddie speaks, voice trembling. “I’m so sorry you’re made to go through this, just for their perverse amusement.”

“So, not only do I have to get – get fucked –“

“Call it what it is – you’re going to be raped,” John snarls, grip on his sword so tight Roger can feel the leather creak.

“ – that,” Roger mumbles. “By everyone and their goddamned horse, at once – but, but they’ll continue to do it for – for nine months, only to fucking _off me_?” Roger screams, grabbing a bowl and hurling it at the wall, the gaudy thing shattering into a myriad pieces. “The fuck is _wrong_ with these fucking people? They wanted a _child_ to go through this?”

“You’re barely an adult yourself,” Freddie says. “Barely eighteen.”

“He’s not _that_ young –“ John interjects, only to be shushed by Freddie.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, you’ve barely gotten used to the taste of wine,” Freddie teases, before he grows solemn, turning to Roger again. “I don’t know – well, no, I do,” the beta says to Roger. “They’ve gotten used to the idea that omegas are these – these senseless animal, waiting to be fucked; they think being alphas makes them superior, and they’ve created a system – a world, really – where the powerless are even more powerless, and those in power hold the entire wheel of fate.”

“I hate them,” Roger whispers. “I – I want to die; all that’s stopping me is the idea of them doing this to my sister.”

Both men look at Roger gutted.

“Oh, lovie,” Freddie says, voice choked. “Can I – can I hug you?” Roger looks at him uncertainly. “I’m a beta – they won’t care for my smell, I promise.”

Roger flings himself at Freddie before he even finishes speaking, starved for human contact.

He doesn’t cry, but he inhales the warm, unobtrusive smell of a beta; John lingers near, his scent comforting; the only alpha he’s ever felt that about.

.

Roger must’ve fallen asleep, because he wakes in the early morning. Surprisingly, Freddie seems to have stayed with him, sitting close to him, next to the bed.

Freddie is insistent he eats, before he leads him to a private bath-chamber, everything already set up. John is behind them two steps at any time, only staying outside once they reach the bath.

The gentle way Freddie grooms him, takes care of him, lulls Roger into a sense of security. Roger knows it’s only a fleeting reprieve of his impending fate, but he’s too emotionally exhausted to muster up anything else but pliancy.

Freddie hums a sweet melody under his breath, chattering here and there about his childhood and upbringing in a far-away kingdom, and Roger is surprised to learn he had been a prince, once.

“Fortunes change, dear,” Freddie tells him, quietly but determined. “Never doubt that.”

If only Roger’s would.

.

The physicians are more careful in their examinations, suddenly treating him like something precious and breakable, as they take note of his slowly progressing change in his body.

It’s still uncomfortable, if not more so.

.

The next morning, a messenger shows up at Roger’s chamber, boredly informing him he’s expected to attend the King tomorrow evening.

Roger destroys three cups and one unfortunate vase before Freddie appears, face stormy and worried.

“Whatever you need,” Freddie tells him as he curls around Roger on the floor, carding through his hair. “Whatever you need to get through this, if I can give it to you, I’ll give it.”

Roger clings back to Freddie like a frightened child. “Don’t leave me alone,” he begs through his tears. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be allowed in with you tomorrow evening,” Freddie says. “But until then, I swear I won’t leave your side.”

.

Roger can’t stop shaking the next day, after he manages a few fitful hours of sleep with Freddie next to him, John staying near. He barely manages to eat, throws most of it up a couple of hours later.

The only saving grace is that there won’t be an examination today, but Roger would rather go through an examination every day for the rest of his life than this.

In the afternoon, Freddie procures a robe of dark indigo silk, only a shade away from purple, from the color of royalty. Roger hates it, but lets Freddie wrap him in the expensive fabric, lets him put on various pieces of jewelry, lets him pull at his hair until he is content, until he looks like an expensive doll, fitting right into the lavish chamber.

The robe is cut in a playful manner, giving the illusion of innocence, when in fact every fold is easily pulled out of the way for easy access. The various pieces of jewelry are set off starkly against the dark color of the silk, and the way Freddie has lines his eyes with kohl makes Roger’s eyes look bigger, younger. He flinches minutely at his reflected face in the mirror.

He looks almost like Clare.

The thought gives him just enough strength that when the knock comes to announce the King is ready that Roger squares his shoulder, chin jutted out in tremulous defiance.

“You’re so brave,” Freddie mumbles behind him, squeezing his hand when the guard isn’t looking.

Roger doesn’t feel brave.

Roger feels terrified.

.

In front of the heavy oak doors, they’re intercepted by Lord Foster.

“You’re not allowed in, only his knight. You ought to know that, Mercury,” Foster sneers.

“Of course, my Lord,” Freddie says, bowing deeply. “It’s just – the omega is terribly nervous, and I thought a familiar face near might soothe him; I’m sure you know how virgin omega’s get – you have immense experience, after all.”

Freddie’s voice is soothing and just the right shade of demure, with the perceived compliment of virility. Foster hums, stroking his short beard.

“He’s an omega slave – he shouldn’t be coddled.”

“You know I defer to your superior wisdom in these matters, my Lord,” Freddie speaks, voice sweet. “I just would hate for him to be too nervous, ruining the King’s mood.”

Foster remains silent, eyeing up Roger disdainfully, before he sighs. “ _Fucking omega bitches_. Very well,” he says louder, to Freddie. “You can sit by the door, _beta_ , and know I’ll have your head if you interrupt, you hear me.”

“Crystal, my Lord Foster,” Freddie bows again, the picture of earnest.

“Indeed,” the Lord grunts, before he thrusts a small parcel at Freddie. “Since you’re his attendant, you’ll put them on him, then. And you,” he turns to Roger. “Do not disappoint the King.”

He doesn’t even wait for a reply, turning on his heel and marching into the rooms behind the oak door, leaving it open. Roger catches a glimpse of a darkened room, overhung with long sheets of white linen, a candle flickering here and there. He hears murmurs of multiple voices, and shudders.

“Come, I’ll have to put these on,” Freddie says, more formally than Roger’s used to, but he knows they’re being watched. In his hand, there are two thin collars, one silver and one gold. Freddie’s eyes are full of apology as he puts them on Roger, who shivers under the cold metal, the added weight uncomfortable around his throat.

There’s an impatient noise from one of the guards, and Roger looks away, biting his lip.

“Deep breaths,” Freddie whispers, almost inaudibly as he leads Roger into the room, briefly squeezing his wrist. “I’m here, as promised.”

“Thank you,” Roger mumbles.

“Finally,” Foster grunts, interrupting the soft moment. “You, sit down here,” he directs Freddie, pointing to a rickety stool right next to the door. John follows them inside, eyes big, full of barely contained worry and fury. He remains by the door, and Roger his comforted that he’s not entirely alone in this.

“Come,” Foster directs, latching a golden-chained leash to Roger’s new gold collar, tugging him further into the room harshly.

As Roger already glimpsed, the whole room is veiled with white linen sheets from top to bottom, the few candles casting the room in warm shadows, the mood solemn. Behind the veils, Roger can see some shapes move, quiet conversation taking place. But, as he steps into the room fully, there’s a hush that falls over the people hidden behind the veils, and Roger can feel eyes on him from all directions.

In the middle, the biggest canopy bed Roger has ever seen is set up, everything from the covers to the pillow in the same creamy white as the veils.

White for innocence.

White for innocence soon to be lost.

Foster tugs him further along until they reach the bed. He directs Roger to climb up on it, before attaching the chain to a hook at the bedpost, before he leaves, disappearing behind one of the veils with a last, lingering look at Roger.

For a moment, he is allowed the illusion of solitude, as the last hushed voices die out. Then, a priest steps into the dim light, and Roger would laugh at the ridiculous tradition if he wasn’t the main part of it.

“Esteemed council, defenders of the realm,” the priest drones, one hand raised to the sky. “We have gathered here on this most holy of occasions, to herald the beginning of the new era; our astronomers have deduced that this year, a new sovereign will be conceived, and thus mark the beginning of the _saeculum leo_ – the Age of the Lion.

“This virgin omega has stepped forward as a honored volunteer to be our _deditus de regnum_ , our devotee of this beloved and noble Kingdom; a higher honor has not been bestowed to an omega for a generation. He will do his duties, will bring our Lion heir to the world – our child of all. Do you accept this glory to your name, omega?”

As if any of them even know his name, Roger thinks bitterly, but he nods shakily. “Yes.”

“As per our distinguished traditions, our King has rightfully claimed his _primo recta_ , the First Right. Step forward, Anointed One, blessed by the Gods,” the priest speaks, and Roger flinches minutely as the large frame of the King steps out from the shadow, only wearing a small cloth to cover his cock – which is already hard.

“May our union bring about the turn of the time,” the King speaks, and the council in the shadows echoes his words in an ecstatic murmur. The priest steps forward, blessing the King once more, marking a symbol on his forehead. He rounds to Roger, tutting at his curled up state, quickly tugging him until he lies flat on his back. With an oily, grainy substance he paints a symbol on Roger’s stomach, then steps back.

“Child of All, Age of the Lion,” he chants, and again, the Lords and Ladies echo the words reverently.

Roger has barely room to breathe before the King approaches the bed, stripping away his cloth, his erect cock now in full view as he climbs on the bed eagerly. Blind with fear, Roger looks for Freddie and John, aching to let them hide him from this, _from the world_.

He finds John’s eyes first, and Roger can see how tense he is, like a coil ready to spring into action. Freddie, sitting next to him isn’t looking any better. They both look anguished.

Gods, if he asked them to take him away, they _would_.

The thought is softening the blow of what’s happening to Roger, but Roger is forced to tear his eyes away from them as the King yanks at his ankle, pulling him close to the King. Roger forces himself to look up.

The King’s eyes are full of hunger, drinking up the alluring sight of Roger, helpless and at his mercy, dolled up for the occasion.

Roger’s heart drops at the ravenous gaze, shivers at the scent of aroused alpha, the overwhelming amount of pheromones clogging his airways, making him gasp for air.

“Pretty thing,” the King murmurs, gripping at Roger’s knees and spreading his legs apart. He pushes the thin fabric of Roger’s robe, exposing his cock for everyone in the room to see. He’s not hard, but as he gets closer to his forcefully induced heat, his body grows more responsive. The King seems content to take his time, wrapping a large, calloused hand around Roger’s cock, relishing in the way Roger is powerless against the stimulation as he arches into the touch.

Roger forces himself to endure the touches, tries to clamp down the humiliation when he feels himself grow hard slowly, for the King, for the entire council to see. The King makes an appreciative noise, hand wandering from Roger’s now fully erect cock to his hole, horribly wet, already leaking into the sheets.

“Already gushing, aren’t you, my little devotee, hm?” The King rumbles into Roger’s ear. “Answer me, omega,” he says more forcefully when Roger doesn’t reply, wrapping a hand around Roger’s neck, pressing the thin metal collars right against Roger’s windpipe. “Tell me how desperate you are for your alpha King to breed you.”

The force around his neck intensifies. “I’m – I’m desperate, for –“ he squeezes his eyes shut. “For my alpha King to breed me,” he presses out, gritting his teeth.

“I don’t believe you,” the King grunts, his eyes boring into Roger’s. “You don’t seem very thankful for the honor bestowed onto you. Convince me.”

Roger steels himself for what is about to leave his mouth. He cocks his head, makes himself arch into the touch of the King, eyes hooded. “I am thankful, my King,” he whispers as seductively as he can muster. “And I am so very, _very_ desperate for your alpha cock inside of me, to breed me.”

The words make bile rise in Roger’s throat, angry and ashamed of himself, but the King is pleased.

“I know you are, omega,” the King purrs, slotting himself neatly between Roger’s spread legs, covering Roger with his body, their faces only inches apart. “How could you not be? This is your purpose, after all,” he chuckles lowly, condescendingly, his foul breath fanning over Roger’s face. Roger hasn’t time to turn his face away before the King licks into his mouth, all wet tongue and too much force, and Roger feels _filthy_.

Roger jerks when he feels the head of the King’s cock brush against his sopping wet entrance, quivering in horrified anticipation. The King grins against his mouth darkly, and then Roger can’t breathe, eyes wide and unseeing at the canopy above him as the King presses inside him.

_It doesn’t hurt_ , is all Roger can think. The King slides into him with one smooth thrust, neither slow or gentle, but Roger is so slick it’s as if he’s sucking the King right inside. The pressure inside, the _fullness_ is definitely new, though. Roger has fingered himself before, even gone as far as three fingers, and has been fingered by physicians too, but this – the King’s fat cock is unforgiving inside him, and Roger can feel it press against his tight walls with every gasping breath he’s taking.

“The devotee has offered up his virginity, and it has been taken,” the priest drones, and Roger turns his face, presses it into the pillows, shame burning through his chest. “The Age of the Lion has now begun.”

The King moans lowly as he begins to move inside Roger with strong, fast thrusts. Roger’s heart is hammering in his chest, hyper-aware now that this is not just the King watching him, defiling him, but the priest, the members of the council – though hidden from view – they’re all a part of this.

“Gods, you’re tight,” the King mumbles against his neck, suckling at a patch of free skin just above his collars. Roger just whines weakly, face still hidden into a pillow. He feels everything too much right now, hates how his body is desperate to respond to getting fucked, feels more slick dripping out of his hole, his cock twitching eagerly, his muscles coiled tight.

The thing is, the King isn’t a bad fuck – though that might just be his traitorously eager body talking. Right now, Roger wishes the King were a bad lay, just to get this whole ordeal over more quickly; just so Roger wouldn’t have to desperately try to stifle his moans into a pillow as the King finds his sweet spot, angling his cock just right to brush against it with every thrust.

He knows his body is build for this, knows it’s eager for accommodating this potential alpha mate who’s fucking him, and already, his thighs are quivering, pleasure tingling up the back of his legs up his spine, and Roger moans loudly, throwing his head back, baring his neck.

“Eager slut,” the King chuckles against his neck, the scent of alpha pheromones so thick in the air that Roger is inhaling them as he gasps for air. “By all what is holy, you’re phenomenal, you know?” The King grunts, increasing his pace, and Roger sobs, hating how the approval in the King’s voice makes him preen in his current state. “Look at what you’re doing to my council, hm?”

Roger blinks through the haze of pleasure, frowning, head lolling to the side. At first, he looks uncomprehendingly at the moving shadows behind the veils lining the walls of the room, before it clicks. The candles and lanterns provide just enough light to see the shadows of the Lords and Ladies of the council – and they’re not alone; each alpha noble has someone in their lap, between their legs, under them – likely omega slaves – and the shadows move sinuously, the stink of sex now clear. As if through water, Roger hears moans and grunts, the tell-tale slaps of flesh against flesh.

“Ah, you like this, don’t you?” The King breathes out, laughter in his voice as he hitches Roger’s legs up higher, Roger automatically wrapping them around his waist. “Like me fucking you so deep you can feel every inch of me, hm?”

“Please –“ Roger sobs out, high-pitched. He cranes his head, tries to catch a glimpse of John and Freddie, but his vision swims, and only now Roger realizes he’s crying.

“Say it, you fucking omega whore,” the King growls into Roger’s skin. “Tell me how eager you are to be filled to the brim with my seed, how eager you are to get bred.”

“I – I,” Roger stutters, body shaking uncontrollably. He’s so, so close, and he tries to fight against it. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want any of this, and yet.

“ _Say it_ ,” the King commands, delivering a particular hard thrust that has Roger’s toes curl.

“Please, _please_ fuck me, fill me up – _ah_!” he gasps, panting heavily as the King shifts, thrusts now touching even deeper, and Roger has never felt so _full_.

And he wants more, still.

The King bites at Roger’s jaw roughly, hand coming up to tug at the gold chain still attached to the newest collar, cutting his air off; for a long, glorious moment, everything goes black, and all Roger is still aware of is the thick cock hitting his sweet spot with every deep thrust, and he wails, shaking apart under the King as he comes, slick spurting out of him, soiling both the King and Roger’s inner thighs, while his come splatters over both of their stomach.

When Roger comes to, he’s still being fucked lazily by the King as he’s held in place, and he’s met with a filthy grin. Roger has barely time to process this, as he’s still hard due to the King still fucking into him, and his body is still eager, pleasure humming under the surface.

A hand settles on his heaving, sweaty chest, shifting the soaked fabric of Roger’s pretty robe aside, and he whimpers weakly when the King’s dexterous fingers roll one of his nipples, tugging teasingly.

“I have to admit,” the King says breathlessly. “You make it difficult for an alpha to hold out. What a sight you must be in heat, when you can think of nothing but the next cock about to fuck you.”

The words break through the haze of pleasure Roger’s riding on, and he flinches, turning away from the leering expression of the King. A hand on his chin forces him back to look at the King.

“Don’t play coy, little omega bitch,” the King snarls. “Even now, your body is so eager, pretty pink cock hardening between your legs.” Roger flushes in embarrassed humiliation.

The King thrusts into him brutally, leaving Roger gasping for air, hands scrabbling at the King’s broad shoulders, but the King simply takes his wrists, forcing them above his head, holding them in place with one hand, grip bruisingly tight.

Roger bucks under the girth of the King, but the monarch just laughs at him for his feeble efforts, as if he likes a bit of struggle from his omega slaves. It doesn’t deter him, and he continues to fuck into Roger with a brutal, punishing pace, occasionally to lick into Roger’s mouth, biting at his lip.

Then, the King lets go of his wrists, slipping out of him, and Roger can’t stop the whine at the sudden emptiness.

“Oh, I’ll fill you up soon enough, you wanton bitch,” the King rumbles huskily. “Get on your hands and knees.” He accentuates the words with a harsh tug at the golden chain, and Roger turns onto his stomach, before he heaves himself up on all fours, limbs trembling with the effort.

He claws at the pillows under him as the King fondles his arse, kneading the flesh painfully, before spreading his cheeks apart for appraisal, and Roger is horribly conscious of the way slick is still dribbling out of his stretched hole.

A hand presses down between his shoulder blades, forcing him to fall back to his elbows, his chest forced down soon after.

“Spread your legs,” the King says, and Roger buries his face, hiding underneath his hair, the pretty hairdo Freddie had done falling apart.

Freddie –

Roger turns his head, gaze flickering through the room, flinching from the flickering shadows fucking some poor slaves to the event of Roger’s loss of innocence, and then, he sees him.

Freddie is at the very edge of the seat, lip bitten bloody, fists clenched so tight into the fabric of his breeches that his knuckles have turned white. Years of living as a noble has given Freddie the advantage of knowing how to school his features, but his eyes –

They’re filled with cold fury, and beneath, Roger can read agony in them, and sorrow. He shifts his gaze behind Freddie, to John.

John’s face is stony, jaw trembling. He’s gripping the spear tightly, that Roger can almost hear the creak of the wood under John’s strong, beautiful hands. His eyes are boring into Roger, a storm of torment.

Roger’s lips twitch into a facsimile of an encouraging smile, but it quickly falls when broad hands grip his hips tightly, pulling him backwards.

The position is dreadfully familiar. The King slides easily back into Roger, lowering himself to cover his back just like that night in the King’s own chambers, mouthing at the skin of Roger’s back. Roger is loose enough now that he just grunts lowly at being filled again, hiding his face in his arms. The new angle is even more intense, the King being able to slide against his sweet spot easily.

“Remember that first night in my bed, sweet omega?” The King mumbles, rubbing his beard against the skin of Roger’s back. “How you were begging to have me fuck you like a whore on the streets, hm? I’d like to hear you beg like that again.”

Roger chokes on a sob, and then a hand is in his hair, tugging painfully. The King tugs him to his front, an arm coming to wrap around his middle easily.

“Beg,” the King growls, thrusts becoming more erratic. “Convince me you want me, before I go find myself another omega, more malleable, with your pretty face.”

Roger feels a surge of panic at the very real threat.

“Y-your majesty,” he sobs, powerless in the King’s strong grip. “Please, you can have me, to – to do everything you want with me –“

“Is that so?” The King mumbles, almost amused, tugging Roger’s head back by his hair. “Tell me, will you still be eager for your first cock, even after the whole court has had you, after you’ve had your fill of cock to last you for a lifetime?”

Roger shudders at the reminder of what’s to come very soon, but he pushes past the horror.

“Always,” he gasps out. “I am devoted to the Kingdom – and you _are_ the Kingdom.”

It’s the right thing to say; the King moans, thrusting into Roger in a renewed frenzy, and Roger can feel his second orgasm approaching as the aroused scent of the King thickens.

The King spills inside Roger with a shout, burying himself deep inside him. The feel of his seed coating his inside has Roger come for the second time that night, coming all over the sheets as he becomes boneless, whimpering in the King’s arms. The King grunts at the feeling of him twitching around him, has him thrust shallowly into Roger as he’s milked for the last of his seed, and then –

Roger whimpers at the feeling of the King’s swelling cock, stretching him even further – too much; he squirms in the King’s iron hold, trying to get away. He’s not in heat, not quite yet, and his body isn’t ready to accommodate the King’s knot like this. It feels like he’s being torn apart.

His efforts are only met with an unhappy grunt, before the King falls forward, his full weight falling on Roger as his knot swells even further. Roger is now openly crying, hitching sobs escaping him as he can’t do anything else but to take it, even as the King chuckles into his ear, gyrating his hips to emphasize the unnatural stretch.

“What a turn-on you are,” the King sighs contently. “I haven’t lost control of myself like that in years.” He swats at Roger’s side of his arse when Roger continues to squirm, anything to escape the stretch, despite knowing he won’t be able to, as they’re locked together for the imminent future. “Stop your moaning, you bratty thing. The more you moan, the more I’ll like it,” he chuckles.

“My King,” the priest, tuts, mildly reproachful. “This is highly irregular.”

“My deepest apologies, old friend,” the King says. “But once you slide home in this tight little hole, I’m sure you’ll find yourself in a similar position – he feels divine.” There are some titters and chuckles from behind the veils, and Roger is glad the King’s large body shields him mostly from view.

“And what if you damaged him before the ceremony?” The old priest sniffs, though there is definitely fond amusement there.

“I doubt it – look at him, how well he takes it. He’s barely even crying.”

In the ensuing discussion of how much of a wanton whore he is, Roger shifts under the King, trying to ignore the burning stretch as he tries to look for his – his friends?

He finds John’s eyes first, this time. John has a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. But when he sees Roger looking at him, he lowers his hand, shooting Roger a smile – more like a grimace, trying to be encouraging.

Freddie’s face is still schooled in a pleasantly bored expression, but there are silent tears running down his face, and he looks away for a moment when Roger looks at him, wiping his tears away before he turns to Roger again.

Roger keeps looking at them, their sight like an anchor in this sea of vile debauchery. He drowns out the sounds of the other omegas getting fucked behind the veils as best as he can, tries to ignore the words said about him.

It feels like a small eternity passes until the King’s knot goes down, inch by inch, and Roger whimpers in relief as he feels his cock slide out, followed by a gush of come and Roger’s own slick, dribbling down his thighs. With the King no holder holding him up, he slumps down the bed completely, feeling numb.

The King swats his arse, and Roger turns his head.

“I think you’re forgetting something, beloved devotee,” the King says, a clear warning in his voice.

For a moment, Roger’s mind blanks out, but then he sees Freddie mouth ‘thank you’ in his periphery, and Roger pushes past the shudder of digust.

“Thank you,” he croaks out. The King shoots him an unimpressed glare. “Thank you, my King for – for claiming First Right. Thank – Thank you, esteemed council,” he presses out. “Thank you for witnessing my claim as devotee to this Kingdom.”

He feels beyond sullied, feels filthy inside, beyond being able to be washed clean of it. The priest warbles some more, but Roger isn’t listening, anymore, sagging back, burying his head in the pillow, torn between feeling nothing and feeling all of it.

Once more, he feels the King’s weight over him. “Give me an alpha heir,” he hears him say, feels a kiss pressed to his ear, and then the King rises fully off the bed. This seems to be the signal, and Roger can hear footfalls of dozens of people leaving the room, a buzz of excited chatter following them. Roger doesn’t move; _can’t_ move.

He feels gentle hands on his shoulders, turning him gingerly, but even this gentle touch has Roger whimper in pain, and Freddie soothes him mumbling out apology after apology as he helps him sit up.

“Well, then,” Roger hears Foster speak up, and he freezes. “This was quite a show you’ve given us, omega slave,” he chuckles, and Roger doesn’t look up, as he might hurl if he did.

“He’s devotee, now,” Freddie mumbles as he slings Roger’s arm over his shoulder.

“True, true – he’s done well to demonstrate his devotion. But, you and I know it’s just a fancy title – once an omega slave, always a slave.”

“Was there something in particular you wished to discuss, tonight?” Freddie asks with an edge as he hold up most of Roger’s weight as he stands. Some more come and slick runs down Roger’s inner thighs. “As his attendant, I’d like to attend to him – he’s exhausted.”

“Your devotion to your duty does you credit, Mercury,” Foster says, but there’s something veiled there – something Roger is too exhausted to pick apart, right now. “I’d just like to congratulate him.” There’s a brief silence, before Roger’s grabbed by his chin none too-gently, forcing him to look at Foster’s leering face.

“My Lord,” Roger mumbles out, eyelids heavy, drooping.

“I am most pleased, omega,” Foster purrs, thumb caressing Roger’s skin. “You are exemplary – truly, I cannot wait to have you.”

Roger shudders, bowing his head. He doesn’t want to think about that – he doesn’t want to think about anything, right now.

Thankfully, Foster takes his leave, disappearing into the corridor, and they’re finally alone. Roger tilts, body too heavy, too aching, to support himself.

“Fucking hell – John!” Freddie shrieks, trying to hold Roger upright. A second pair of arms comes to hold his other side, righting him up. Between these two people, the only ones Roger can trust, here – apart from maybe the kind physician – Brian, and he goes completely limp.

“’s okay,” John says thickly. “We got you.”

Nothing is okay, never will be again, but despite that, he knows the second part is true.

.

Roger is barely awake when they return to his chamber, and thankful for it – there had been a few Ladies and Lords on the way cheering as they passed, congratulating Roger.

He’s too exhausted for a reaction.

Neither John or Freddie say anything, Freddie just cleaning him up as gently as humanly possible. Even so, everything hurts, and Roger can’t stifle his distressed noises. Freddie apologizes with every noise Roger makes, until Roger begs him to stop.

John stands in quiet vigil at the door, looking at the floor, as if he can’t look at Roger anymore. Roger wonders if it’s because he’s disgusted of Roger, of how wantonly he’d spread his legs, for all to see, in the end.

Finally clean, or as much clean Roger can ever feel, now, Freddie shifts him to lie down on his side, finding the one position not hurting somehow.

“Darling,” Freddie breathes, voice full of anguish, and Roger looks at him through hooded eyes. “I – I can’t think of anything to say, but – we care very much for you, more thank you know.” Gently, he brushes some errand strands of hair off Roger’s face. “If there’s anything –“

“’s too late now,” Roger slurs, a mirthless chuckle escaping him. “They’d find me, they’d kill you and – and I’m soiled now, used goods – John can’t even look at me.”

“It’s not you that’s filthy – it’s _them_ ,” John tells him, meeting his eyes finally. “And I can’t – can’t bear to look at you because I have failed you.”

“It’s your job,” Roger says.

“You’re more than that,” John says quietly, fiercely. “I could still bite –“

Roger snorts the same time that Freddie gasps.

“Don’t – don’t pity me,” Roger says.

“It’s not pity,” John replies, taking a step closer, gaze burning bright with something Roger can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re so incredibly strong.”

“Stop,” Roger snaps, suddenly feeling angry, pushing away the nothingness clawing at his chest for a moment.

“How about we just – rest?” Freddie intervenes, shooting John a pointed glare. “Do you want us to stay?” He asks Roger.

“You promised not to leave me alone,” Roger says.

“I won’t, as long you want me,” Freddie says earnestly. “But, I thought, with today –“

“You thought wrong,” Roger interrupts, really not wanting to think about anything outside this room.

Freddie nods, crawling next to Roger, hesitating before he lies down next to him, not quite touching him. John moves, coming to stand next to the bed, taking position to guard.

Roger falls asleep, feeling safe for a fleeting moment in time.

.

Roger sleeps through most of the next day, only waking at sundown. He feels even more exhausted, uncomfortably sore all over.

“No exams today?” Roger can’t help but asks as he nibbles on some stew without appetite.

“No,” Freddie says firmly. “I explained you needed your rest, and they’ve granted it, as I’ve made sure you’re – physically well enough.” He hesitates for a moment. “Brian will come by tomorrow, though.”

“’s fine. He’s nice,” Roger sighs. At least he doesn’t have to go outside.

“He is,” Freddie smiles thinly. “It’s – he could be appointed your permanent physician, after –“

He trails off, biting his lip. Roger knows what he means, and sets down his bowl, feeling queasy.

“Yeah, sure,” Roger says, trembling. He feels both of them looking at him with worry. “It’s – it’s really happening, isn’t it? Has already happened?” He says, voice wobbling. “I’m – Gods, how many will there be?”

No one answers him.

“And for – for nine months,” he laughs, the sound jarring into the silence. “I just wish I could – could be unconscious for it. I don’t – I don’t want –“ he breaks off, burying his head into his hand. He doesn’t see the thoughtful look shared between Freddie and John.

.

“Hello, Roger,” Brian’s voice greets him softly as he gingerly sits down close to the nest Roger’s built – it’s not like he’ll get to use it for the impending heat, but he can’t quite defy his instincts. “Is it okay if I take your temperature?”

Brian is incredibly gentle and careful, examining him and making a note here and there. He frowns when he takes in Roger’s bruised pelvic area, the way his hole is still an angry red, swollen.

“I have some salve for that,” Brian says, taking out a small jar. “It should help with the swelling, in time for – for the celebration.” He stumbles of the word, the same disgusted expression on his face that John and Freddie have.

“What does it matter? I’ll be in heat – I’ll be begging for it,” Roger says humorlessly.

“About that,” Brian says quietly. “I have something that might help to – to numb you, for the summer solstice – make you less aware.”

“You mean a drug,” Roger says.

“Well, yes – it will, ah, amplify your heat, your baser instincts, so to speak. I – you’ll be too gone for it to be anything but a hazy memory,” Brian ducks his head, looking at a loose thread of his tunic instead of Roger.

“It will make me a desperate omega slut, barely coherent,” Roger surmises. “An alpha’s wet dream, I’m sure.”

“It’s not about them,” Brian says firmly. “They’ll believe whatever they want, they won’t think it strange, but you; you won’t have to think about what’s happening, will barely remember it. If you want.”

“It will still have happened, though,” Roger replies, eyes stinging.

Brian looks terribly heartbroken, hands twitching as if he wants to reach out. “I’ll be there the entire time, as will Freddie and John,” he says quietly. “I just thought you’d like to – to not be as conscious of what’s being done to you.”

Roger mulls the words over. He realizes that Brian doesn’t want him drugged to be a perfect omega bitch in heat, an alpha’s wet dream, but rather, to help Roger through the celebration.

“Fine,” he says slowly. “What is it?”

Brian smiles, relieved.

.

Half a day before the summer solstice, Roger’s heat starts.

It’s almost perfect in timing.

Roger soaks through his bedding three times that night.

He pretends not to cry when Freddie cleans him, eyes hard. Pretends John’s alpha scent doesn’t drive him wild.

John goes to stand guard outside his door that night.

Roger only barely manages not to call for him.

He doesn’t quite manage to suppress the shivers of pleasure at Freddie’s touch – his body is beyond caring what gender exactly touches him, right now.

In the hours of the early morning, Brian arrives with a bitter tasting potion, watching Roger drink every drop.

And then it’s time for the summer solstice celebration.

.

The potion does as Brian promised; it takes about an hour to begin to set in, and then Roger feels _wonderful_. He feels hazy, his limbs heavy, and his body is warm, a pulsing want underneath his skin. He whines unhappily when Freddie coaxes him out of his nest.

“I’m sorry, love,” Freddie says. “You can’t stay here – you have to be ready for the celebration at sundown, yeah?” Roger would love to listen, but Freddie’s lips are so lovely, and Roger sways into Freddie, looking up at him dreamily.

“Fucking hell,” someone curses. “Bri, is that normal?”

“Yes,” Brian answers, checking Roger’s eyes. “He’ll be out of it.”

“And it will remain this way?” Freddie asks softly. He sounds worried, and Roger coos, curling closer. “I hate to see him like this, but it will be easier.”

“Probably – but I’ll mix some into his water, just to be sure. You keep him hydrated –“

“And completely drugged,” the third person says. Is he drugged? Roger feels nice.

“Well, unless you have some other suggestion how to make this more bearable for him –“

“Don’t take that tone –“

“Gents,” Freddie’s voice cuts in sharply, running a soothing hand over Roger’s head. “Now’s not the time. Help me get him up, I need to prepare him.”

A warm hand lands on his arm, helping him to his feet, and Roger smells the most wonderful scent.

“ _Alpha_ ,” he purrs, wrapping himself around the alpha – it’s John! John smells so _lovely_.

“Fuck,” John says with feeling, trying to untangle himself from Roger. “Brian –“

“Yeah,” Brian replies, and then John’s smell is gone, replaced with the muted beta scent of Brian. Roger makes an unhappy face. “Sorry Roger, John, uh – had to take a quick step outside.”

“Come, sweetling,” Freddie beckons, directing him to a chair. “We’ve got to get you ready, hm?”

Roger goes, entire body still so, so heavy. He kind of spaces out for a moment, the way Freddie takes care of him soothing, easing the burning deep in his core, if only for a moment. Then, a weight wraps around his throat, and he tries to escape it, only for it to snap into place.

“I’m so sorry,” Freddie whispers, cupping his face. He looks incredibly torn, distressed. “It’s a gift from the King – another collar, marking you as the devotee of our Kingdom.”

Roger tugs at the heavy collar resting over the other, circlet ones. It’s bejeweled heavily, sparkling in the light, almost blinding.

“Sorry,” Freddie says again, voice choked. Somewhere, Roger knows he should feel bad, should feel scared, but nothing manages to crawl its way past the low hum of desire in his veins, pulsing with each beat of his elated heart.

There’s a knock on the door.

.

Somehow, Roger manages to walk the endless corridors to the ballroom, with Freddie close by. John follows with a larger distance than usual, and Brian had gone ahead, to meet the rest of the physicians already waiting.

Roger isn’t wearing anything, but he’s glad – he feels overheated, and despite having been powdered a last time a mere ten minutes before they were called, he already feels sweat beading at his hairline, trickling down his back. Apart from the too-heavy collars, he’s wearing decorative chains draped over his body, which tinkle with each step he takes. Freddie assured him he was very pretty, that he would catch the eye of everyone in the ballroom.

As they come closer to the ballroom, Roger stumbles, the scent of the dozens of alphas growing stronger, headier with each step. Freddie helps him keep upright, keeping him on his path.

“It’s alright,” Freddie says, looking anything but alright. “You’ll make it through this, I promise.”

They’re met at the heavy oak doors by Foster, who’s approaching him.

“Hells, what’s with him?” Foster snaps at the sight of Roger. Roger squirms, baring his neck at the sound of an unhappy alpha.

“His heat seems a bit more – intense,” Freddie says, sounding too innocent to Roger’s ears. “He’s – he’s very eager.”

“Is that so?” Foster rumbles, the low sound going straight to Roger’s cock, and he moans. Thick fingers grasp at his face, and his eyes flutter shut at the touch of _alpha_. “Well, look at that. Seems like his true nature has won out – the thing was too stubborn for his own good.”

“I wouldn’t dare to presume,” Freddie says demurely.

“Of course not, you’re only a _beta_ ,” Foster says dismissively. “Well, pet,” he addresses Roger, who preens. Foster’s smile grows wider. “I can’t wait to have you.” Roger nods, the words like balm for his burning ache. “Come along, then,” Foster speaks up. “It’s time.”

The doors open.

Roger stumbles again as he steps through, the scent of the myriads of alphas in the room, all aroused, some even in rut, has Roger mewling softly. He’s tugged along by Foster into the very middle of the room, but that doesn’t stop the wandering hands, each touch making Roger go weak in the knees. All of them are only wearing simple robes, open except for being tied around the middle; they’re bare underneath.

In the middle of the ballroom, a pedestal has been built, accessible only by a short staircase. On top of it, a mockery of a throne has been built, half cot and half chair, with stirrups. Foster remains at the base of the steps as Freddie leads him up, John at their heels. On top, Brian and a few of the other physicians are already waiting, as well as two servants. John stays right next to the steps, and through his drug- and heat-induced daze, Roger realizes he’s shaking.

Freddie directs him to the not-throne, and Roger eases down on it. The servants usher him to lie backwards, taking his wrists and tying them, before binding them to one of the hooks above his head, leaving him immobile. Roger whines, unhappily.

“Is that really necessary?” He hisses lowly. He needn’t have bothered; most of the crowd are listening raptly to Foster’s speech, eager for the celebration to begin.

“It’s not like he needs them to keep his legs spread and getting fucked, eh?” One servant replies matter-of-factly, and Freddie mutters a vile curse under his breath. Roger’s legs are bound to the stirrups, keeping his legs spread wide. Roger shifts, trying to test how much movement he has, tugging at the chains.

He wants his nest, this construction leaves him feeling too vulnerable, too exposed.

“I know, darling,” Freddie says, taking his place next to Roger, brushing some of his hair out of his sweaty face. “It’s only until dawn, until the celebration is over. Then you can go back to your lovely nest, hm?”

Roger nods.

Below them, the masses have gathered, music playing again as the nobles start to take numbered scraps of paper out of a wooden bowl, tittering amongst each other. The wooden stairs creak as the priest makes his way upwards.

“Is he ready?” He asks, voice authoritative. Roger goes to curl into himself, only to be held in place by his chains.

“Yes, your eminence,” a physician says, rubbing at Roger’s leaking hole, making him cry out softly. “He’s very responsive, all nice and slick.” It’s not praise, not really, but the alpha priest sounds pleased, and Roger preens.

“Very well,” the priest nods, taking out a jar with a black substance, dipping his finger into it. “People of this realm,” he booms, and the ballroom goes quiet below them. “Today marks the beginning of a new age – the fields are ripe with life, blessed by the Gods. And this omega, the _deditus de regnum,_ our devotee, will soon too, be ripe with life.

“The astronomers have read the skies, have conferred with the Gods; a new age is upon us, and the seed of which it will sprout from is right here –“ the priest draws symbols over Roger’s stomach with the black substance, which smells rancid. “May this omega be blessed by the Gods, so that he may quicken with our heir, the Child of All; so that the _saeculum leo_ , the Age of the Lion may begin.”

Roger squirms as the priest draws more symbols over his whole body, even this faint touch having him panting in his restraints.

“The turn of the time is upon us,” the priest speaks solemnly. “Who is first to step forward?”

A murmur goes through the crowd, and a young Lord, barely of age, steps forward, looking eager, almost nervous. A few whistles go through the crowd as he makes his way up the wooden stairs, and Roger flinches.

“It’s alright, dear heart,” Freddie mumbles quickly. “I am here. So is John, so is Brian. You’re not alone.” Roger nods, head lolling, and then the young alpha boy stands in front of Roger.

He smells too inexperienced, too _green_ – not a suitable mate, but the boy is aroused, alpha cock standing proud, and Roger’s own twitches in anticipation regardless.

“Oh, _wow_ ,” the boy sighs, crawling up to the not-throne, slotting easily between Roger’s spread legs, his cock rubbing at Roger’s slick hole, already dipping in from the sheer wetness. Roger whines, arching his back. Almost cautiously, the boy grabs his hips, lining up. “You’re really pretty,” the boy tells him. Roger preens just a little.

“You don’t have to sweet talk him, boy! Just fuck the slut!” One of the Ladies shouts up, the ballroom erupting with laughter. The boy flushes angrily, only heightening his youth. Still, his cock is nice, thick as it slides easily inside of him, the boy bottoming out with one smooth thrust.

Roger can feel everyone’s eyes on him as the alpha boy clumsily fucks him, everyone in the room drinking in their sight. Roger hangs limply in his restraints as the boy finds his rhythm, feels himself leaking even more, making the boy moan at the feel of so much slick around his cock.

“Feels good, getting your dick wet with a bitch in heat, doesn’t it?” Another Lord shouts up, making the boy’s hips stutter, drawing a whine out of Roger. He dimly hears other snippets of crude comments, but his mind becomes foggy with pleasure at this point, content to let this green alpha fuck him, taking him in eagerly.

“So wet,” the boy grunts, thrusts growing erratic. Roger moans weakly, involuntarily clenching around the heavy cock inside him. That’s all it takes for the young alpha, and Roger hums contently as he feels him spill his seed inside Roger, hips snapping forcefully into Roger’s. Wolf-whistles sound from below them, and the boy chuckles against Roger’s chest, suckling at the skin there. “I’ll definitely have you attend me in the future, omega,” the boy tells him, slipping out of him.

Roger makes a confused, distressed sound, feeling yawningly empty without a knot.

“Oh, quit your whining,” one of the physicians says. “If everyone here would knot you, we’d be here for three days. Now,” he continues, taking a small instrument vaguely looking like a miniature spatula. “Let’s keep that seed right where it belongs, hm?” With that, what little come has leaked out is spooned up and shoveled back into him. It’s a strange sensation, too perfunctory, yet too intimate.

Already, the next alpha has lined up, an elderly Lady, but her age doesn’t seem to have a negative impact on her virility; she smells faintly of rut.

“What a gorgeous thing you are,” she tells him, gripping his chin roughly. “Let me show you how it’s really done; that green boy barely knew where to stick it.”

Roger cries out softly as she slides into him and fucks him, her rut only spurring him on, fucking himself back. She mumbles sweet filth into his ear, her clever fingers teasing him in all the right places, and it’s not long until he comes with a long whine, twitching as she continues to fuck him, her low grunts loud next to his ear.

She too, comes inside of him without knotting him. It makes Roger anxious, leaving him with a sense of being unfulfilled, of being deprived.

Warm, slender hands soothe over his brow, a cup of water, faintly smelling of herbs, is held to his lips.

“Come, dear,” Freddie mumbles. “You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you,” Freddie praises him, and Roger beams at the praise, eagerly drinking the offered water. He’s so glad Freddie is here, something familiar in contrast to all those strange alphas lining up to mate him.

He has barely taken the last sip when another body sidles up to his, heavy cock teasing against his hole. “Open up for me, omega,” a deep, alpha voice says, and Roger hums, head falling back as another cock slides deliciously into him.

Roger looses his awareness for a bit, after that, only dimly aware of the multiple alphas in between his legs. What he is aware of is the pleasant buzz of desire intensifying, magnifying every touch until he’s a drooling, quivering mess, aching for more.

Dimly, he notices less and less attention being paid to him, as the festivities continue, the alphas cheerfully dancing along the music. A few betas mingle here and there, but they’re mostly servants and attendants. There are almost as many omega slaves as there are alphas, entertaining those not currently fucking the main attraction.

The smell of sex is heavy in the air, settling like a blanket around Roger, making him more desperate for it.

Brian and Freddie attend him as best as they are able, Freddie keeping him hydrated, and Brian reminding some of the alphas of not being too rough. The other physician sniffs at the words, and, as if to spite Brian, shoves the spilled come back inside of Roger with a little more force than necessary. Despite the physician’s best efforts, the sheets under Roger are _soaked_ , clinging to Roger’s arse and back uncomfortable and sticky, but there’s little he can do about it.

A vaguely familiar face swims into his vision; it’s Lady Sutcliffe, untying her robe as she appraises him.

“A shame,” she tells, him, shifting closer. “I wish I could properly knot you, breed you – perhaps even mate you,” she purrs, sliding into him, her grip on his hips like iron. Roger moans at the words, and she chuckles, setting a punishing rhythm. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pretty?” He nods blindly, weakly straining against his chains.

She laughs, condescending as she brushes his sweet spot.

“But then, I really like you trussed up like this too,” she says breathlessly, and then she licks into his mouth, stealing Roger’s breath entirely. It only takes her ghosting over his cock, and then Roger comes with a little sob, squeezing around her. “So tight – how are you still so tight, you little slut?” She wonders, tugging at his collar as she comes, and Roger mewls at the feel of her seed spilling inside of him.

“Give me an alpha child,” Lady Sutcliffe grunts, relishing in the feeling of him twitching around her, before she offers her hand up, soiled with his come, and Roger barely thinks as he licks it, tasting himself on her skin, letting her fuck his mouth with her fingers, lets her tug at his bottom lip.

“I’ll put that pretty mouth of yours to good use, soon,” she tells him as she slides out of him. “Such a charming thing,” she croons, before she heaves herself off him, leaving him.

The feel of the physician spooning the come back into him is familiar now, and Roger barely even twitches. Freddie makes him take another sip of water, before wiping some of the come off his chin. On instinct, Roger chases the fingers, licking at them, and Freddie stills for a moment, before he sighs.

“You don’t have to do that, love,” Freddie mumbles. “I’m proud of you regardless.” Roger makes a plaintive noise, wanting to reach out to him, but another alpha has crawled between his legs, fat cock nudging against his entrance, and Roger sighs contently, losing the train of thought entirely, succumbing to the feeling of another cock in him.

Again, he loses track of how many alphas fuck him next. He’s long since lost track of time.

Some alphas are gentle, almost perfunctory, and those usually carry the strong smell of another omega, making Roger frown, feeling out of place. Others are rough, enjoying the sounds he makes when they pull at his hair, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his skin. Yet others seem to want to drag their coupling out, leaving him gasping as he comes under them.

Many of the alphas cup his stomach, digging their fingers in, smearing the symbols drawn there, asking either him or the Gods to bless him with their alpha child.

None of them knot him, leaving Roger feeling empty and unsatisfied, no matter how many times he comes, no matter how many alphas breed him.

Freddie’s caring is only a small comfort for this, for the unfulfilled ache throbbing in his core, but Roger is still so very grateful for him; he’s grateful for Brian, and his gentle hands; for John, silent and watchful.

“What a sight you make,” Foster’s voice breaks through the fog clouding Roger’s hazy mind. Thick hands brush over his trembling legs, teasing further upwards. In his state, Roger is happy about any kind of touch, even from _this_ alpha, and he opens his mouth willingly as Foster licks into it, the scraggly beard rubbing against his sensitive skin, leaving it tingling. “I’ve waited, my pretty,” Foster mumbles into his open mouth.

Roger just moans, hips twitching towards Foster, making the older alpha chuckle. He rubs his cock against Roger’s wide-open hole, soaked with slick and come, not quite sliding in.

“Can you feel what you do to me, then?” Foster rumbles, and Roger nods, eager. “Pretty little bitch, you’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” Roger whines, body arching off the sticky sheets, trying to get closer to this alpha. “Lovely,” Foster sighs, sliding inside, making Roger moan wantonly at the thickness of his cock. “Look at you,” the alpha laughs as he starts to thrust into him, establishing a brutal pace that has Roger mewl, scrabbling for something to hold.

Foster takes his time, edging Roger on until he comes on Foster’s cock, making the Lord growl as he squeezes around his cock.

“I’m going to enjoy you, every day in court, until you press out my whelp,” Foster grunts, hips snapping into Roger in a frenzy. “I’m going to have you crawling on all fours, sated and filled with your belly full of me,” he moans, biting Roger’s shoulder lightly, not enough to break skin. “You want it? Want my seed fill you up, breed you with my pup, hm?”

Roger just nods, unable to process the words, only keenly aware of the alpha above him, close to filling him.

Foster comes with a howl, smothered into Roger’s neck, hands clawing at Roger’s flat stomach. Roger barely notices the Lord pulling out, trembling in his restraints. Foster scoops up a bit of his own come, smearing it against Roger’s lips, who laps at it eagerly.

The celebration continues, the list of the alphas who still are to breed him dwindling, one of the servants eagerly crossing off each name off the list. At one point, the elderly physician attending him crawls up on Roger’s not-throne, taking his sweet time fucking him, pressing two fingers along his cock in, and it’s almost as if being knotted, and under his knowledgeable hands, Roger comes twice.

The priest too, sheds his robe and mounts him, large and heavy on top of Roger, grunting into his ear about how good he feels around him, how it will be his seed taking root inside Roger, this honor granted from their Gods to him, for his life-long devotion.

Roger doesn’t care about any of the things they’re saying to him, too far gone for any of it to matter. But, even as eager as he is for a knot still, he slowly begins to ache all over as time passes; his arms from the way they’ve been bound over his head for hours, the way he’s chained down, unable to change position, his legs cramping. Even Brian’s potion seems to slowly lose its numbing effect.

Then, as another alpha spills into him, leaving him alone on the pedestal, yearning for a knot, a hush falls over the room.

The King rises from amidst his people, slowly making his way up to Roger, and he perks up.

This alpha has already knotted him once; maybe he will finally give Roger what he needs.

“My beloved people,” the King speaks, loud and clear. The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, bathing the King in a glowing, warm light. “The solstice is almost over; you have all done your duty by your Kingdom, and your future heir. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” The nobles below cheer at his words. The servants untie Roger from his bindings, finally, at the King’s sign.

“This omega, our chosen devotee has performed quite well; it’s through him that our future will be secured,” he speaks solemnly, tugging Roger up by his collar. “His service to you, to me, to this entire Kingdom will continue; he belongs to all of you after tonight. Treat him reverently, for he will be carrying your heir. I only ask of a fortnight of reprieve, so we may ensure our heir’s safe conception.”

Again, the crowd cheers, whistling, and throwing some suggestive jeers, here and there. They quieten as the King turns to Roger as he sits down on the soiled not-throne, spreading his legs.

“Come, omega,” the King commands. “I will give you what you need, but you will have to earn it.”

Roger approaches, watches with hunger as the King opens his robe, his mighty cock springing free, already full hard. Roger climbs onto the King’s lap, but he receives a reproving slap on his arse, making him whimper.

“Face the Kingdom you’ve volunteered to serve, slave,” the King mumbles, turning him around. The King grips his hips, pulling him down, and his cock slides in easily enough, sinking deliciously into Roger as the King bottoms fully out. Roger moans, twitching at the fullness, before he jolts as another swat lands on his arse. “Get onto it, hm?”

Bracing his hands on the King’s knees for leverage, Roger does as he’s told, eagerly fucking himself on the large, hot cock sliding in and out of him. Every pair of eyes in the room is on him; even Freddie’s, Brian’s; _John’s_. He tosses his head back, whining needily as he fucks himself harder on the King’s cock.

“Not like that,” the King murmurs suddenly, hands on his hips stilling Roger’s movements, and he mewls. “Not up and down – roll your hips. Feel how well I’m stretching you, filling you.” Roger nods, beginning to roll his hips as instructed, moaning at the burning stretch.

Hands grip his hips, holding him into place as the King fucks up into him, much harder than Roger was, making Roger almost fall off his lap. It doesn’t take much of this, Roger’s entire body high-strung and desperate, oversensitive. He comes with a high-pitched wail, the King continuing to fuck into him in a brutal pace that has Roger panting.

The King growls, biting at Roger’s shoulder as he comes, and Roger moans like a whore at the feel of the King spilling into him, pushing the seed of the other alpha’s in further.

He cries with relief as the King’s knot swells, _filling_ Roger, locking them together, keeping all of the seed already spilled into Roger inside. Roger pants heavily at the stretch, held only up by the King’s hands wrapped around his biceps.

“Look at your devotee,” the King calls out. Roger is spread on his lap, the knot stretching him on full display, for everyone to see. “Your future is conceived, today.” Roger doesn’t see them, doesn’t care.

He’s finally sated – finally _full_.

His hazy eyes find grey-green eyes boring into him.

“ _Alpha_ ,” Roger breathes out, thighs twitching. He finds other eyes, warm brown eyes, hazel ones. He purrs, something inside of him slotting into place.

“Yes, eager little whore. Alpha; _your_ alpha,” the King chuckles, too quietly to be heard by the people below, licking over the shell of Roger’s ear. Roger doesn’t listen to him, has only eyes for the alpha in front of him, for the betas beside him. Hands grip his stomach, pressing down. “ _My heir_. _Mine_.”

Roger hangs in limbo, heavy-lidded, barely reacting to the King occasionally shifting, thus driving the knot in deeper. Eventually, the knot goes down, the King’s softening cock slipping easily out of Roger. No sooner than he’s pushed off the King, that one of the physicians is at his side, holding something resembling a knot in his hand. He shoves the object, made out of metal and wrapped with soft leather, inside Roger.

“You must keep this for at least a day – your assigned physician will make sure of it.” He casts a look at Brian, who shifts. “You must be with child by the end of the month,” he warns. Roger hums, muscles clenching around the artificial knot, now slightly uncomfortable.

The King is talking to his court, declaring the end of the festivities just as dawnlight bathes the entire room golden as the crowd cheers.

Brian and Freddie help him to his feet slowly, and Roger clings to them desperately; they easily, _willingly_ give him the comfort he’s yearning for. They, along with John, bow respectfully as the King passes them, just about to descend the steps, to join the slowly dispersing crowd of people.

“Now you’ll get your turn, Sir Deacon,” the King smiles generously at the knight, clapping his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re quite eager for his used little hole, hm?”

The only sign of John’s temper shows in the way he tightly grips the ceremonial spear.

“You are most kind, My King,” he speaks, voice deceptively soft. “But that isn’t included in my duties.”

“Such an upright young knight,” the King praises. “But, he’ll be serving the entire Kingdom; that includes you too, if you change your mind. Even the betas of the court, should they be so inclined,” he says, winking at Brian and Freddie. “I am proud to have such an honorable knight; but as an alpha, I understand the urge to – give in to certain urges, from time to time,” he says conspiratorially.

“Thank you, My King,” John says, remarkably contained.

The King pats him on the shoulder one more time, before he bustles down the stairs, the other physician in tow, leaving the four of them to stand alone on the platform.

“’m tired,” Roger mumbles from where he’s clinging to Brian.

“Of course,” Freddie is the first to speak. “How does a quick bath sound? And then you can go to your nest, get some proper rest?”

Roger hums, letting himself be dragged along, Brian and Freddie carrying most of his weight, John at their backs.

There are some stragglers left in the ballroom, thanking Roger, but he barely hears them, doesn’t particularly mind or care about their hands on him, touch fleeting as Freddie and Brian push him along, sprouting excuses left and right.

He’s almost asleep by the time they’re done washing Roger, removing the chains, except for the collars. The little artificial knot is still lodged inside him, and with each step Roger is painfully aware of it. He’s beginning to really feel the hurt and sores, doesn’t protest as they help him crawl into his nest, eagerly drinks the water he’s offered, barely makes a face as Brian gives him another potion.

“To help you sleep, speed up your healing,” Brian says, squeezing his shoulder. Roger nods.

Sleep sounds amazing.

He drifts off quickly, only dimly aware at the soft-spoken argument taking place over his head. Someone is crying, Roger thinks.

But before he can do anything about that, sleeps drags him into its dark embrace.

Roger doesn’t dream.

.

When he wakes next, Roger is entirely lucid again, regretfully. He groans in pain as he tries to move, his body protesting vehemently.

“Hey,” a kind voice says, and Roger opens one eye, squinting up to see Brian hovering over him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Roger croaks out honestly. Brian makes a sympathetic face.

“You think you could sit up for a bit? I’d really like you to drink and eat something,” Brian asks, slender hand on his shoulder. Roger grunts, lets Brian guide him into a sitting position, despite every muscle in his body screaming in protest. “There we are,” Brian smiles weakly, handing him a cup of water. Roger drinks it eagerly, almost coughs it up again from drinking too greedily.

“Fuck,” Roger says, voice scratchy, hurting. “That stuff had it really in it, Brian,” he mumbles, before he frowns, looking around. “Where’s Freddie and John?”

“John carried Freddie back to his own sleeping quarters a while ago,” Brian says. “He hasn’t slept a wink since – well,” Brian trails off. “It’s been almost a day. And he finally fell asleep by your side. John’s outside – you’re still in heat.”

“Oh,” Roger says, stomach churning violently. “I – I don’t,” he shakes his head, head hurting. “I barely remember,” he admits, looking down his clenched fists on his lap. Brian reaches out to lay his hand on his.

“I’m glad,” Brian says, voice barely above a whisper. He looks anguished. “The potion did what it was supposed to, then. Do – what is it you do remember?” He asks hesitatingly.

Roger closes his eyes. “Just – just some words, and – and being so full, and I –“ he chokes. “I liked it – I wanted them to – to –“ he barely brings out the words, eyes squeezed shut, tears falling as he heaves out a sob.

Brian gently wraps loose arms around him. “You _didn’t_ , Roger,” he says, voice quiet, but firm, leaving no room for argument. “It was simply your body, and they used that horribly against you, as they do with all the omega sl– with all the omegas,” Brian corrects himself.

“But I did – and it wasn’t the heat, or your potion; I wanted it at the end, wanted an alpha to – I even called out for –“

“You wanted _comfort_ ,” Brian disagrees, voice still so very gentle. “You wanted someone to take care of you, and they exploited that horribly, to get what they want.”

Roger’s hand wanders to his stomach, unbidden. “I don’t want it, Brian. It – it won’t be mine, it will be _theirs_ –“ he digs his fingers into the tender flesh of his stomach hatefully.

Brian is quiet for a moment. “There’s still time, Roger,” he says eventually. “You have options –“

“No, I _don’t_ ,” Roger says, eyes staring at the wall. “They’ll just fuck me again, and again, torture me until I am – am with _child_ ,” he sneers.

“Rog,” Brian says, and Roger can see it, can see the helplessness, the heartbreak, and suddenly, he becomes angry.

“No, I – I don’t want to hear it, not from you,” he snarls, pushing Brian away. Somewhere, he knows he’s too weak to even stand up, let alone move someone like Brian, but Brian lets him regardless. “You’re just – just being a _good beta_ , doing your job serving this Kingdom,” he says viciously. “What? You’re just nice to be because you pity me, because you feel like you’re better than them if you’re not horrible to me,” he laughs, the sound horrible and grating to his own ears. Brian doesn’t say anything, just looks steadily at Roger with his old, sad eyes. “Leave,” Roger says, and his voice breaks, and to his horror, he feels the first tears beginning to run down his face.

“Roger,” Brian tries, and Roger loses it.

“ _Leave me alone_!” He screams, loud enough to drown out the sound of the yawning chasm in his chest.

Brian casts him a last, sorrowful look, and Roger can’t _stand_ the pity in his eyes, too understanding. What gives him the right? No one understands.

A moment later, the door creaks open, and John peeks around the corner, eyes wide. “I heard –“

“ _OUT_!” Roger thunders, hurling a cup at the door. John ducks, eyes wide and vaguely terrified, opening the door just enough to let Brian through, before the door clicks shut again, and Roger is left with blessed silence.

Roger hates it.

But it gives him the privacy to curl into himself again, to finally let himself break apart, violent sobs smothered into a pillow.

.

“I leave for like ten minutes and all hell breaks loose,” Roger hears through the fog of his sleepy brain, only barely awake. “Typical. Did he _eat_ , at least?” Freddie asks, and someone – Brian – mumbles a negative. Freddie harrumphs, and Roger feels him wipe over his blotched, swollen face. “Well, take that infernal thing out of him, at least. Before he wakes.”

“But, it’s not yet been –“

“Brian, I will stab you with this fork, I swear –“

Roger drifts off again.

.

The next time he wakes, he isn’t in heat anymore, only a bit of too-warm itching under his skin. It’s Freddie who’s at his side, Brian and John nowhere to be seen.

“Hello, darling,” Freddie mumbles softly. “Back with me, hm?”

“Yeah,” Roger mumbles. He feels drained.

He takes the food Freddie offers him, chewing slowly on the soft bread and fruit.

“Doesn’t look like you’re in heat anymore,” Freddie mumbles, looking at him.

Roger swallows. “No.”

“I see. Do – is it usually this – short?”

“No,” Roger replies dully.

It could mean anything; sometimes, heats run short – his body has been more than satisfied, he thinks with a shudder.

But.

.

Roger laughs weakly when Brian peeks his head in cautiously, waving him in.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Roger says to him. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Please don’t – don’t apologize,” Brian mumbles, looking dejected. “This situation you’re forced into – I couldn’t possible imagine.” He cups Roger’s face into his hands, and Roger leans into the tender, careful touch, eyes falling shut. “You’re so very strong, Roger. No, you are,” Brian insists. “So it’s alright to be angry.”

“We’re all being kind of helpless, aren’t we?” Roger sighs. “I know you – that it’s none of your faults.”

“I wish we could do more for you,” Freddie interjects. Roger shakes his head.

“You are doing plenty,” Roger says, and it’s true; Roger doesn’t want to imagine to have an uninterested attendant instead of Freddie, one of the old physicians instead of Brian, a cruel guard, eager to shove his cock into Roger, instead of John.

“Could you get John?”

.

The first week passes without much happening; Roger is left in peace for the most part. Brian tells him that it’s too early to tell for sure if he’s pregnant; he will have to attend an exam by the end of the next week, though.

It won’t do anything. Roger already knows.

.

John has been acting strange, almost distant, even though he’s never more than a few feet away. And it’s him that Roger craves to be close to the most. His stupid brain recognizes John as a _reliable, strong alpha_ , doing everything to protect him.

Roger wants.

.

Freddie is rarely away from Roger, forcing him to take care of himself, cleaning up after him, feeding him. _Providing for him_. His touch is warm, soothing.

Roger wants.

.

Brian is constantly checking on Roger, his gentle hands soothing over Roger’s slowly healing body, telling him about anything and everything just to fill the silence. His _gentle, nurturing nature_ shines through.

Roger wants.

.

“Well, then, omega?” The physician asks, crouching between Roger’s legs, the army of physicians and nurses behind him looking just as eager. “Do you think you’re with child?”

“I – I believe so,” Roger stutters, face ashen. The physician hums, feeling the firmness of his stomach, massages Roger’s chest.

They pour Roger’s piss into a cup of wine, testing how the color changes. If it changes.

It does, just as Roger knew, _had dreaded_ it would.

“Inform the King! Inform the council! The omega is expecting! The summer solstice has blessed us with an heir!”

Roger looks numbly at Brian, who stands a few feet further away, looking equally distraught.

His grace period is now over.

.

In the very same evening, he’s summoned to the council chamber. He stands naked in front of them except his collars, feeling nothing as they clap cheerfully, thanking him for the blessing of the Gods.

The King has Lord Foster put a thin, gold and bejeweled net of chains around his flat stomach, with plenty room to give. To grow their most revered heir in that space.

“Kneel, devotee of this Kingdom,” the King orders. Roger does, not looking up. “With our celebration coming into fruition, the entire Kingdom will watch and delight in watching you ripe with its seed; it will delight in your continued servitude. Know your duty, and you will be blessed with your blood being immortalized in the line of royals.”

Roger wants to laugh; if he doesn’t die in childbirth, they’ll just off him as a sacrifice, will dispose of his body somewhere, and he’ll be forgotten as soon as this thing pops out of him; none of them know his name, even now.

Foster attaches another chain to his collars, dangling down, just barely touching the ground.

“Now, our devotee,” a Lady speaks, beckoning him over. “Let us celebrate you.”

Roger closes his eyes, and moves to do as he’s told. There’s no escape from this, not now; they’ll hunt him down to the end of the earth if he runs.

The Lady bends him over the long table, her dainty hands fisted tightly in his hair.

“Open up for me, omega slave,” she breathes into his ear, uncaring that he’s almost entirely dry as she presses inside of him; she seems to relish in the rough slide.

Roger cries silently into his arms as she fucks him, all the while having conversations over his head.

At least he’s wet enough after she spills inside of him, he thinks, as his chain is tugged by another council member, to bend over for that one as well, to thank him. _To celebrate him_.

Roger closes his eyes, thinking of his little chamber, with the scents of his friends lingering there. Safe.

Away from _this_.

.

There will be a celebration in three days, to celebrate Roger’s – _bliss_ , as he’s being reminded.

It also means that he’s free meat.

After he limps out of the council chamber, it doesn’t take long for a guard to approach him, pressing him to the wall.

John growls in warning, but the alpha guard, stinking of mead, just laughs. “He’s free game now, isn’t he?” He laughs, hitching up one of Roger’s legs around his waist, cock already freed and hard. “He just spread his legs for the council, it’s time he did his duty to the rest of us – trust me, there’s a line,” he grins lewdly. John looks this close to beheading the guard, and Roger shakes his head. He can’t lose John just over this, if he’s punished, restationed – he won’t.

John, every muscle coiled, eyes white with fury, takes a step back, back rigid. Roger gives him a tired smile, which quickly turns into a grimace as the guard slides into him, erratic breath hot on Roger’s face.

“Mh, you feel so good – all eager for a real alpha, aren’t you?” The guard grunts, words slurred. At least it will be quick, Roger thinks as the alpha fucks into him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, with you bred like a real bitch by all those poncy gits,” he laughs, scraping his teeth against Roger’s collarbone.

“No biting,” John snarls. “You should know that,” he adds.

“Fucking hell,” the guard grumbles, but stops, instead pressing his mouth sloppily to Roger’s, putrid breath making Roger gag.

“And hurry up,” John says, now sounding every inch the bored alpha knight he _really_ isn’t. “He’s got a schedule.”

“Quit yapping, you _baby alpha_ ,” the guard growls, fucking harder into Roger. “Can’t concentrate with you barking like a whiny pup.” John bares his teeth, but just as Roger predicted, the alpha is too drunk to make much of this, and he comes inside Roger with a low growl, pleased. Roger hangs limply in his hold, having little other choice but to endure it. Finally, the guards cock slips out of him, adding more to the already present trail of come running down his inner thighs.

The guard grabs Roger, shoving him into John, who catches him, holding him to his chest. Roger almost gasps; it’s the first time for over two weeks since he’s touched John, and up close, his smell is intoxicating, soothing him.

“Have the slut,” the guard shrugs, tucking himself back into his breeches. “I can tell he’s really eager for you,” he winks.

“Leave,” John says, voice so dangerous that the guard’s eyes widen in fear, even if he’s almost a head taller than John, bulkier. He scurries off, and John breathes out slowly, eyes still wild.

They gentle when he looks down at Roger. “I got you,” John says. “I’m – I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything –“

“’s what it is,” Roger mumbles, nuzzling into John’s neck, almost inhaling the heavenly scent there. “Not like you make them fuck me.”

“Still,” John says, so quiet Roger thinks he wasn’t meant to hear. “Let’s get you back to your chamber, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Roger says, but he doesn’t let go of John.

John ends up carrying him.

.

It continues in a similar manner for the next few days, people randomly grabbing him, bending him over right there, enjoying the way he squirms and whimpers when they fuck him, laughing with others who pass them by. They leave him trembling against a wall or slumped against the floor after they’re done, uncaring of him.

He's just a hole, a breeding whore to them.

John is there to pick him up each time, bringing him back to their den, where Freddie and Brian usually are already waiting, their muted beta scents comforting, unthreatening as they clean him up, take care of him.

Roger feels like he’s dying a bit more each day, as if this thing inside him is leeching off his lifeforce.

.

Before the feast, Roger asks Brian for the potion – he doesn’t want to remember.

Brian shakes his head, looking desolate.

“I can’t – it only works if you’re in heat –“

“Something else, then – please, Brian –“

“I don’t – everything else is dangerous to your child, or to yourself. And,” he tacks on at Roger’s empty look. “They’d notice, even if I had something that would be harmless. I – I’m sorry.”

Freddie, who has been listening quietly as he fastened a flimsy robe around Roger (and for what? They’ll rip it off him as soon as they can) speaks up. “Do you have anything for after, at least? To help him – sleep.”

“I – yes,” Brian says slowly.

“Then please prepare it, love,” Freddie asks Brian, who nods. “He’ll need it.”

.

The feast starts normal, with some speeches about Roger, who has been made to sit in the King’s lap, being hand-fed scraps like one would a cute mongrel. Roger watches listlessly as the Lords and Ladies, the courtiers, some knight feast to the honor of their heir inside Roger, toasting and getting more drunk by the second. Roger wishes he would be allowed to drink, but the physicians had informed him only a sip of wine here and there would be healthy for the precious treasure inside of him.

Roger ignores the King’s wandering hands as best as he is able, despite one large finger slipping between his cheeks and massaging his hole until it gives just a little. He stares straight ahead at a banner as the King’s other hand wander up his thigh, until Roger is forced to spread his legs by the insistent press of the large hand.

He has never hated himself more than when his body starts to react to the King’s insistent ministrations, and the King chuckles in his ear, suckling at the lobe. Roger shivers.

“I can’t wait to see you see swollen with child, pretty omega,” he tells Roger, easing the finger fully inside, made easy by Roger’s slick.

“He’ll look magnificent, cousin,” the Lady Sutcliffe toasts, a few of the nobles raising their cups as well. “Now, are you going to have him? If not, pass him over.” A few nobles laugh, along with the King.

“So impatient, dear cousin,” he chuckles, shifting Roger closer. “But if you can wait, I’ll hand him to you after I’m done, all nice and wet.” With that, the King turns Roger while he pushes a few platters aside, pushing Roger onto the table, on his back. “Spread your legs,” the King tells him, and Roger does, face flaming with shame at the jeers of the other alphas.

He’s fucked everyone but the other omega slaves in this room, and they’re eager to do so again.

“I think I’d like a little show from you, hm?” He says, idly stroking the inside of Roger’s thigh. “Would you like that, devotee? Show us your gratitude?”

Roger doesn’t speak, doesn’t _want_ to, but the King pinches the tender skin of his thigh, making him jump. “Yes, your majesty,” he whispers, but the surrounding courtiers still hear him, toasting at his words.

“Then get to it – please yourself, make the little heir growing in you know they’re loved.”

_Love_ for the thing in him is not what Roger would describe he’s feeling, but, with a shuddering breath, he lifts his hand to wrap around his cock. The King tuts, slapping his hand away.

“Not there, you useless whore,” the King tells him. “What is your cock good for to us? I want you to finger your dripping hole.”

“I don’t know why the male ones even grow one,” a Lady sniffs disdainfully as they watch Roger slide a finger inside himself.

“It’s fun to tease them at times,” another Lord shrugs, taking a sip of wine, eyes glued to Roger. “Their little cocks are very sensitive.”

The other nobles titter, picking up the conversation, but everyone keeps watching Roger.

It’s even more horrible than the summer solstice; Roger is painfully lucid, not even a heat to justify his body’s reactions. Intellectually, Roger knows just because his body gives off signs of pleasure, doesn’t mean _he wants to_. However, Roger is more and more at odds with his own body, as if he was inhabiting someone else’s.

He feels tears well in his eyes when he realizes that it _is_. He belongs to these people now.

“Don’t dawdle,” the King interrupts his train of thought. “Add another finger.”

Roger does as he’s told, ignoring the wolf-whistles around him as the second finger goes in with ease, with an obscene little sound.

“C’mon, you whore,” another Lord laughs. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it. Make some noise – I enjoyed them greatly at the summer solstice.”

Roger whines at the reminder, but for the life of him, he can’t remember this Lord.

“Better,” the Lord nods, leaning back to nibble at a cake.

It’s not that he isn’t _trying_ to hold back the sounds; he’s always been quiet when pleasuring himself, except maybe in heat. But, at the King’s expectant nod, Roger exhales shakily, beginning to play up his little sighs, until he’s moaning like they want him to.

“Well, then,” the King nods, standing up, already unlacing his breeches, his cock springing free. Roger’s hand falls away as the King steps between his legs, the head of his cock teasing against his hole. “How could I deny an omega in need?” He winks, addressing the court.

Roger grunts as the King slides into him, looking up blindly at the ceiling. The King keeps standing upright, leaving Roger horribly exposed to the entire table as he fucks into him, holding his legs apart as wide as they go, as if Roger was a piece in an exhibition.

The humiliation doesn’t end there, though. One of the King’s daughters leans over, pinching his nipples, delighting in his panting little gasps she causes. Another Lord comes over, force-feeding grapes to Roger, before insisting he lick him clean of the juice, all while conversing with the King.

“What a pretty mouth,” the Lord says, before looking at the King, a hand on his tenting breeches. “May I?”

“Please, my friend. But remember not to be too rough. The physicians tell me this is a delicate time for him.”

“Of course,” the Lord nods, and then Roger has a cock nudging at his mouth. Roger gasps at a particularly rough thrust of the King inside him. “That’s it, little omega slave,” the Lord praises, using the opportunity to slip his cock past Roger’s lips. Roger chokes at the new feeling, the large cock sliding deeper. “Though I think physicians tend to be a bit over-cautious. Remember my little redhead omega slave? I had her attend to us in her last month, and she was just as eager and pliant, if not more.”

“Oh, I remember her,” the King grins darkly, thrusting harder into Roger. “Talented little mouth. Loved her using all three of her holes once.” He groans in pleasure as another thrust of the King has Roger moan weakly, mouth still full of his cock. “Oh, what a wanton slut,” he praises, patting the side of Roger’s face.

“Let’s give him what he wants,” the King grunts as his thrusts grow erratic, hitting Roger’s sweet spot with almost every thrust, causing him to cant his hips up, hands gripping at the wooden table, scrabbling for purchase. Then, the King pulls out, and a moment later Roger feels his come all over his body, coating him from his own cock to his chest. The Lord laughs breathlessly at the display, slipping out of Roger’s mouth as well, spilling over his face.

The courtiers jeer at the sight, delighted at the show of debauchery as the Lord moves to his seat, and the King sits back down, tucking away his cock as he appraises Roger. Roger just lies there, chest heaving, tears in his eyes.

“I think I like the sight of you like this, slave,” he smirks, patting Roger’s thigh.

“Get him up,” the Lady Sutcliffe snaps, impatient. “You’ve had your fun.”

“Of course, cousin,” the King says jovially, tugging at Roger’s chain attached to his neck, forcing him to sit up. “You heard her, pet.”

He hands the chain to Sutcliffe, who tugs at it harshly, causing Roger to stumble.

I don’t enjoy my cousin’s sloppy seconds,” she informs him, lifting her skirts. “Get on your knees.”

.

None of the alphas leave Roger untouched.

He leaves the feast with shaking legs, but no tears. He has no more to give.

.

And yet, the constant fear of being forced to his knees at any possible time isn’t the worst.

Every week, he has to attend a medical exam; not in the physicians rooms, however.

They set him up on his pedestal from the summer solstice, chain him just the same way as they examine him, loudly proclaiming his progress to the rest of the court, who cheer and clap as it is declared everything is in order.

After he’s done, they keep Roger chained there for a time, some eager alphas climbing the pedestal, _to honor him_.

He’s there for hours.

.

His body keeps changing over the weeks. Nothing is really visible yet, but under the bejeweled chain, his stomach begins to look different. Roger is glad for the chain, as it hides the evidence of his fate from his own view.

Roger can’t ignore the violent morning sickness, though.

.

Over the weeks of constantly being forced to bend over for the nobles, for the King, even the guards and attendants and servants, he’s grown quiet. He barely eats, stumbles from the hallway into his chamber, falling into his bed, just sleeping.

The only reason he even goes outside is that if he doesn’t, they’ll come to him. His chamber, his little den is the last sanctuary Roger has, and he won’t let them invade it.

He knows the other three grow worried at his listlessness, but other than clean him, treat his bruises, feed him, they can’t do anything for him.

.

Roger likely has fucked everyone in this damn castle, at least twice. Only very few alphas don’t approach him, the very few who seem to actually cherish their omegas, and Roger is grateful that, at least, he’s spared those very few. Others come regularly to seek him out; some grow tired of him, some only come sporadically.

And some seem to favor him.

The King, for one, is very keen on Roger, but the smell of other alphas puts him off, and if he calls for Roger, he has to bathe for an hour, with Freddie scrubbing his skin furiously, so the smell of _other-alpha_ all but disappears.

At least the King becomes more gentle as time passes and Roger’s belly swells. He spends an uncomfortable amount of time worshipping him, focused on his middle, mumbling to the tiny bump, as if it were his. As if Roger were mated to him, bred only by him.

The Lady Sutcliffe favors him as well, sending little trinkets over to his chamber, along with invites. As opposed of the King, though, she doesn’t like to fuck him the more he shows, sniffing at his growing clumsiness as he tries to adjust to the changes in his body. Instead, Roger is on his knees (kindly with a pillow, as to not strain his aching joints), forced to eat her out for hours, until he’s soaked with her juices; then, she makes him suck her alpha sex, until she comes down his throat, hands painfully twisted in his hair.

“A shame,” she tells him each time, as she caresses his wrecked face. “You are truly a rare jewel.”

Then, there is Lord Foster.

.

At first, nothing much seems different with Foster; just another alpha Lord eager to fuck him whenever he gets the chance, and Roger bears it with as much grace as he can.

Then, Foster asks him to come to his rooms freshly used instead of bathed like the Lady Sutcliffe or the King insist. Roger thinks this might just be a specific image that the Lord likes, to have him look like a used whore; he’s learned that some like that.

It starts small, with Foster tugging at his hair, swatting his arse, tugging at his chain, calling him a wanton slut, needing to be put into place for his indiscretions. Like Roger has a _choice_.

The things Foster says to him, has Roger say grow more specific over time, this fantasy Foster seems to harbor evolving, until Roger finds himself right here;

“Slut,” Foster purrs as he wraps his hands around Roger’s throat, squeezing tightly until Roger starts to see black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“S-sir –“ Roger croaks out, knowing his script by now. Foster’s eyes grow dark and dangerous, and in the next moment, Roger’s cheek stings from the sharp slap.

“That’s not my name to you, you cheap whore,” he snarls.

“So-sorry,” Roger whines. Foster is on edge today, more than usual. “ _Alpha_ ,” he manages to say through his constricted airways, the collars digging painfully into his throat under Foster’s strong hand.

“ _Whose_ alpha, you bitch?”

Roger hates this part the most. “Mi-mine,” he sobs, but the grip lessens. “ _My alpha_ ,” he cries out, and finally, Foster lets go of his throat, leaning down, nosing at the metal collars, laying down flush over Roger, his girth too heavy for it to be comfortable.

“Good little omega bitch,” Foster growls lowly, teeth scraping against the metal covering Roger’s neck, where one would leave a mating bite. “ _My_ good little omega, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Roger says dutifully, as per script, catching his breath. “Your omega, alpha.”

“It pains me that you’re such a disobedient whore, my pet,” Foster tells him, cupping Roger’s swelling stomach. “Especially with my little heir on the way. Whatever am I going to do to you, hm?”

“I – I’m sorry, alpha,” Roger says as sincerely as he can. “It’s not your fault you –“ he grits his teeth, taking a deep breath, bracing himself for what’s next in their little play. “You got stuck with such a – a wanton breeding bitch.”

“It _is_ a shame,” Foster laments, tugging at his hair, making Roger expose his neck. “One would think after being bred, you’d be full, but it looks like you just can’t seem to get enough of cock – so much that you have to throw yourself at some poor, unsuspecting alphas, don’t you?”

Gods, but Roger hates this man.

“I’m sorry, alpha” he says, pitching his voice, making him sound weak, contrite. _Demure_.

“You say that every time, omega,” Foster sighs, hand gripping his hip painfully. “And yet you always come to me _used_.” He hums, playful disappointment coloring his voice. “Well, I suppose I could forgive you – if you convince me of your – _willingness_ to repent your sins.”

“Of course, alpha,” Roger makes himself say. He’s broken character only once – he doesn’t want to experience that again. “I’m – I’m yours to see fit what to do with.”

“I know you are,” Foster says, taking a lecturing tone. “I wish you’d remember that, too.” Roger sighs in relief when Foster heaves himself off Roger, looking down on him thoughtfully – as if he doesn’t already know _exactly_ what he wants to do to Roger. “I shall go easy on you – you are bearing me my alpha heir, after all. Aren’t you grateful, omega, for my generosity?”

“Yes, alpha. I have been blessed,” Roger recites, somewhat tiredly, but Foster doesn’t seem to notice.

“Get on your hands and knees, then,” Foster grunts, and Roger hurries to obey him, rolling himself to the side and heaving himself up with some difficulty, the weight in his middle in the way.

Foster takes his time chaining him to the bed like a dog, binding his hands together as well – in the front, so he can still support himself, so he doesn’t hurt the _little heir_.

“Well, now, pet,” Foster purrs, and Roger shudders at the familiar sound of the small whip smacking against his palm. “How many alphas have you spread your legs for since you’ve been last with me?”

“E-eleven,” Roger whispers out.

“Hm, well,” Foster tuts. “I don’t like the uneven number – let’s round it to ten, then, shall we?”

“Thank – thank you,” Roger stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s not the most he’s ever taken by far – and Foster doesn’t whip him hard enough to leave lasting marks.

“Count.”

Roger does.

.

This visit takes longer, Foster eager to torment him – it’s one thing to let the alphas fuck him, to simply lie still under them, but Foster wants to punish him for something Roger has no control over, and he makes Roger fuck himself on his cock while he stays still, swatting his arse, still tender from the whip when he slows down. He also insist Roger comes on his cock only.

After, Foster has him in his lap, warming his cock while he writes letters. And when those are done, he’s bent over the desk, its edge digging uncomfortably into his belly.

“You’re getting fat,” Foster chuckles when he notices, bringing new tears of humiliation to Roger’s eyes.

Roger spends what feels like an eternity chained next to Foster’s feet, naked and with come dribbling out of him on the cold floor while Foster attends his paperwork. It doesn’t spare Roger of having to suck his cock.

He’s saved by the firm knock on the door, a stone-faced John entering without waiting for permission.

“I apologize, but the devotee needs to retire now, my Lord,” John says, eyes glued on Roger.

“Already?” Foster says, sounding disgruntled. “Our time is shortened each time, it seems.”

“He needs more rest as time passes, my Lord. Physician’s orders,” he says, the picture of utter professionalism.

“Ridiculous,” Foster snaps, but he reaches for Roger’s chain regardless. “Other omega slaves are earning their bread without having to be coddled, regardless if they’re bred or not.”

“Indeed,” John agrees, sounding convincingly bored. “But he’s carrying our future, and the King himself heeds the physicians’ advice, my Lord.” The warning is unmistakingly clear, but John is so dutiful about it that Foster cannot find any fault with his statement.

“Oh, very well,” Foster grunts, tugging Roger to his feel by his chain. “I expect you back in four days, omega,” he informs Roger, who has to conceal a shudder.

“Yes,” he replies, eyes cast down. A sharp tug on his chain has him stumbling, legs still trembling from kneeling so long.

“Yes, what?”

“ _Yes, alpha_ ,” Roger says softly, not looking up. Foster hums, handing the chain to John.

As soon as the door closes, John drops the chain as if it’d burned him, nostrils flaring.

Roger doesn’t know how many visits to Foster he can take.

.

Autumn becomes winter, and Roger’s stomach bloats more and more, the jeweled net of chains no longer hiding it, instead accentuating it.

The alpha’s are renewed in their eagerness for his company at the sight.

.

And because the Gods themselves must revel in his misery, Roger is invited to Lady Sutcliffe’s rooms after some time of absence on her part, only to do a double-take when he sees who exactly stands behind her lush chair.

“ _Clare_?”

.

“Roger, just listen –“

“No, fuck you, fuck them – fuck _father_ , I’m going to kill him with my bare hands –“

“ _Roger, STOP_!” Clare, sweet, baby Clare _roars_. Roger blinks, taken aback. They’ve been granted a private chamber in Lady Sutcliffe’s wing, as they “must have a lot to talk about”, as she’d put it while patting Clare’s cheek fondly. Roger had to fight the urge to rip her hand clean off her arm.

“Clare –“

“No,” she says, surprisingly calm. She doesn’t look much different from when he’d last seen her, but her presence is more mature, more strong. A claiming mark is high on her neck, marking her as property to Lady Sutcliffe. “Listen –“

“They – what kept me sane was the thought of you, far away of this place, Clare,” Roger says, hatred burning bright in his chest. “I could’ve bore everything, for you,” he says quietly. “And now they’ve taken you as well – they threatened, I – I should’ve known better, I’m so sorry –“

“Roger,” Clare pleads, her arms coming around him. “Stop, I don’t – I wanted to tell you, but Mathilde –“

“Who?” Roger frowns.

“My alpha. Lady Sutcliffe,” Clare sighs. “Listen. It was me who accepted her offer of claiming.”

“ _What?!_ ” Roger yelps, but Clare slaps a hand over his mouth, silencing him.

“Father was furious – well, until Mathilde paid him off, of course. But, it wasn’t because of father, or mother, or even Mathilde. I came for _you_. Do you really think,” she continues eyes stern as she sees him trying to protest. “I’d let you live, _die_ in this hellhole, alone?”

“Clare, _no_ – this place, these, these _alphas_ , they’re. _Your_ alpha is –“

“I know, Rog, trust me,” Clare says softly. “Liz – one of the servants – has told me what’s happening here – to you. What Mathilde has you do. And when I heard, I was even more glad I came here.”

“Clare, does – does she –“

At that, Clare shoots him a wry smile. “Mathilde is – enamored with me, I think. She was originally just looking for a quick tryst with me, tried to sweet-talk me, but I acted like a clueless little omega virgin, and insisted that all I had was my _honor_ , to be given to my mate – she’s very gentle with me, actually.” She snorts. “After I told her how afraid I was of not doing my duty if I was still growing, she has me drink moon-tea, and she barely touches me. I’m okay, Roger.”

Her bright eyes dim as she lets her gaze wander over his form, thin and abused and dull, with a swollen belly.

“But _you_ aren’t.”

Roger looks away.

“Why would you expose yourself like this to these people, Clare?” he asks, voice tight. “This could’ve been you, just as easily – and what if I fail, huh? What if this – their infernal heir inside of me is a beta, an _omega_? They’ll be looking for another sacrifice, after murdering me and this – this _thing_.”

“Well, they won’t be looking at me, that’s for sure,” Clare says archly. “I’m _mated_ , Rog – I can’t be their virgin sacrifice, and Mathilde’s power protects me as well. I’m _safe_.”

Roger stops at that.

She’s not wrong.

But – “You would’ve been safe with the Miller’s boy, too,” he says. _Far away from all of this_.

“True, but the lad barely knows his left from his right,” she says, playfully haughy, and both share a grin; while kind, the boy was not the brightest. “And I would’ve never gotten to see you again,” she adds somberly.

“I’m going to die in about four months, Clare,” Roger says quietly. Clare takes a sharp intake of breath at his bluntness, her big, blue eyes shining with tears. “And then you’ll have to spend a life-time alone here.”

“No, Roger,” she says, softly, voice wet. “I won’t be alone – there will be a part of you here, with me.” Roger’s hand falls to his stomach automatically. As if it heard her, a tiny flutter answers, and Roger tears away his hand as if he’d been stung.

“It won’t be _mine_ ,” he snarls. “It will be theirs, and they’ll walk over my corpse to have it, and they’ll twist it into another alpha _monster_.” His chest is heaving, his sight blurring as he sways on his feet. Alarmed, Clare guides him to sit on a plush chair, handing him a cup of water.

“And who do you think will raise it?” Clare asks after Roger isn’t seeing double anymore. “The King doesn’t have time, and none of his brats are suitable; Mathilde has been his regent for decades, and she just got herself a young, obedient omega mate,” Clare says, voice low, but insistent.

Roger is floored. “You–“

“Mhm,” Clare smiles. “It’s not official yet, of course, but Mathilde will mostly be in charge with your baby’s upbringing, and you know how alphas are prone to just dump the responsibility on their omegas. In this case, _me_.”

Roger fists the bejeweled chains around his stomach tightly, stomach churning.

“I know you can’t – can’t love it, Rog,” she says softly, eyes understanding, and Roger breathes, the growing lump that has been growing in his throat over all these months lessening. “But, _I_ will love it – because,” she sniffs, and suddenly, she looks her young years again. “Because it’s all I’ll have of you.”

“Oh, baby,” Roger says, his own eyes wet. He drags his baby sister into his arms, holding her tightly. She wraps one hand around his back, the other hesitatingly curling around his middle.

They don’t point out to the other that they’re crying.

“And, you know,” Clare says suddenly, after wiping her eyes. “Whatever cunt the alpha is,” she sniffs. “There’s no way it won’t be all you, stubborn as you are.” She bumps her shoulder to his, and Roger shoves her back.

.

In December, the Kingdom celebrates yule. Roger, with his still-growing belly, is expected to attend.

The worst about it though, that the mates of the nobles will attend as well.

Clare will be there.

.

Roger doesn’t know what their obsession with the pedestal is, but he finds himself tied up again for the yuletide, the tables arranged around it. There’s music, dancing, entertainment – and Roger.

Roger could bear it – has born it, if not for Clare’s presence when the King climbs the pedestal in his festive robes, spreading Roger’s legs apart. Roger studiously doesn’t look in her direction, but her eyes feel like a brand, burning themselves into his skin.

“My people,” the King raises his voice, and the sounds of the celebration trail off. “Once again, I am blessed to have spent this year with you; and this year, we celebrate a most joyous occasion; the impeding birth of our heir – the alpha who will lead us into the Age of the Lion,” the crowd cheers to the words, and Roger doesn’t listen to the rest of the speech; it’s only recycled of what has been said a dozen times before.

Unwillingly, his eyes land on his sister. Her blue eyes lock with his own, twin mirrors of terror. Silently, Roger wills her to look away, doesn’t want her to witness this; she doesn’t frozen in place. Not even Lady Sutcliffe’s gentle coaxing seem to hold Clare’s attention for more than a fracture of a second.

And then John shifts, moving as if he were adjusting a piece of his armor, and the half-step is enough to obscure Clare from Roger’s view, and vice versa. John turns, nodding to Roger almost unperceptively. Roger shoots him a grateful, fleeting smile.

It disappears when the King, apparently done with his speech, turns to him, unlacing his breeches. Roger clutches at the heavy golden chains wrapped around his wrists, trying to steady himself.

“Your physician tells me that you need to be coddled like a bitch in her first heat,” the King murmurs as he covers Roger’s body with his own large one, eyes shooting to his right where Brian is stationed, eyes watchful. A hand grasps his stomach possessively. “I believe you’re growing mindless of your duties, omega slave. You’re our devotee, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Roger cries out softly, the word more like a drawn-out whine as the King chooses this exact moment to slide into him. It’s uncomfortable, even with the oil Freddie had given him to lube himself up, as he doesn’t grow wet as easily this far into his state.

“And what are your duties, then? Remind me,” the King growls, immediately setting a quick pace, unheeding of the unaroused omega underneath him.

“I – I–“ Roger stutters out, breathless. “I serve the Kingdom i-in wha- _ah_!” He cuts off as the King’s cock brushes against his sweet spot.

“Indeed,” the monarch grunts, hands gripping his thighs bruisingly as he pounds into him, delighting in the frantic little noises Roger makes. “In _whatever_ way we chose,” he laughs at Roger’s fruitless squirms. “I wonder what your pretty little sister thinks of you, seeing you like this, hm?” Roger jolts, eyes wide as he stares up at the King. “A pity cousin Mathilde got her first,” the King clucks, gyrating his hips lazily. “I would’ve put her to good use, now that you seem to grow more useless.”

Roger growls, and both Brian and John turn to him at the noise, but Roger is blinded by rage, surging up to –

The King backhands him, and Roger sags back into his bindings, head ringing.

Through his swimming head, only made worse by the King continuing to fuck him, he hears him laugh condescendingly.

“Don’t worry,” the King moans into his hair as he comes, slamming his hips painfully into Roger’s. “As long as you remember your place, I won’t take her from my cousin.” He pats his head patronizingly, before pulling out, rubbing his cock clean over Roger’s swollen stomach.

As soon as the King has turned, Brian is by his side, wiping away blood from his lips with an expression full of rage. Roger blinks up dazedly; the dark, vengeful expression is alien on his gentle features, and he makes a noise.

“Rog – _Gods_ ,” Brian says, swallowing. “How hard did he hit you?”

“Head’s ringing,” Roger mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut from the painful flicker of lights.

“Shit,” Brian curses. “Nausea?”

“No.”

He hears a sigh of relief. “Alright, that’s not too bad, then. Let’s just –“

“Are you done?” A new voice drawls, and Roger tenses.

“My Lord, he’s hurt, I’m afraid –“

“From that little smack?” The Lord drawls. “Move aside, beta.”

“You heard him,” John snarls. “Do you want to hurt R– the future heir?”

“Please, he’s hamming it up.”

“Move, or I’ll move you –“

“John,” Roger mumbles, but he’s heard regardless. “’s alright.” There’s fire blazing in John’s usually calm eyes, sword half out of its sheath. “Please.”

“See? He’s already begging for it,” the Lord says triumphally, but John only moves away at Roger’s pleading face.

He doesn’t want to make a scene, not here, not with Clare around.

John grits his teeth, but nods woodenly.

“Well then, _dainty_ little slut,” the Lord laughs. “Spread those pretty legs, yeah?”

.

By the time Roger had been let down the pedestal, Clare was thankfully nowhere to be seen – nor Lady Sutcliffe. He clings to Brian, sore and tired and violated as they usher him back to his chamber.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he tells them tiredly as Freddie cleans him up, with Brian preparing a poultice, and John guarding the door.

All of them look up at him.

“I – they took _everything_ from me,” he says, and yes, there are tears streaming down his face, but he’s angry. Furious.

Full of hatred.

“I hate them all so much,” he says, voice growing stronger as he gets up, beginning to pace. “I can barely even breathe, with how much I hate them,” he snarls, grabbing one of the trinkets Lady Sutcliffe sent him some months ago.

He hurls the thing at the wall, shattering it into pieces with a satisfying sound.

“That fucking BITCH!” Roger roars, grabbing another pretty trinket, rearing his arm back. “How fucking _dare_ they take my fucking _sister_? I don’t – I don’t give a _shit_ if she thinks she’s doing it for me,” he growls, kicking at a chair. “They made me all their little hole to fuck to parade around – and this fucking thing –“ he snaps, clutching at his stomach furiously. “And they – they just take her? _Fuck them_!”

He grabs the little table, flipping it over, relishing in all the little knick-knacks scattering, breaking apart, accompanied by a loud bang from the table hitting the stone floor. Roger’s chest is heaving, and he tugs at his hair in agony, the fury in his chest threatening to burst free.

The pain is welcome, because it’s something Roger is doing himself, doesn’t come from any of them, and he tugs harder, making his eyes tear up. There’s a gasp, but then there are two strong hands wrapping around his wrists, gently untangling his fingers from his hair.

“Fucking leave me _alone_ ,” Roger spits into John’s calm face.

“I can’t let you hurt yourself,” John says evenly, and Roger laughs bitterly into his face.

“Because of this?” He hisses, tearing one hand free and smacking at his rounded belly. John regards him, eyes calm. He doesn’t look at his middle once.

“No,” he says softly, bringing the hand still held in his own up, kissing Roger’s palm with utmost delicacy. “Because of _you_ , Roger.”

The words take out the wind of his sails, and Roger stumbles. Dainty hands come to steady him from his right, and Roger turns to look into Freddie’s warm eyes.

“You have every right to be furious, darling,” Freddie tells him, taking Roger’s free hand and kissing his knuckles, never taking his eyes off Roger. “But they’re not worth hurting yourself.”

“I don’t know how you’re even still standing, Roger,” Brian says from his left, brushing out a stray hair out of his eyes with his elegant hands. “You’re so brave, so strong.” Hazel eyes bore into his, sincere and somber.

“We’ve been waiting for this for a while,” Freddie admits, stroking his thumb over his hand. “Scream, howl all you want.”

“We’ll take you away,” Brian promises. “I don’t care how. We will – just say the word.”

“Roger,” John speaks, voice gentle. “What do you want?”

Roger blinks.

What _does_ he want?

He wants a lot of things. He wants to go back, grab Clare and run. He wants to kill almost every alpha in this castle, wants to feel their lifeblood seep through his fingers. He wants this thing in his stomach gone.

“I want to _live_ ,” he whispers. “But you can’t give me that.” Head lowered, he doesn’t see them share a poignant look. “I want to – to be a person again, not – not this pretty toy they’ve all been using and using _and using_ until nothing’s left –“

Hands touch his neck, and with a soft _snick_ , the bejeweled collar falls to the floor.

Roger turns, awestruck, to John.

A second pair of hands reach out, unclasping the gold and silver collar. Brian chucks it into the direction of the window.

“Wait, you can’t –“

Wordlessly, Freddie strips him of his copper and leather collar, dropping them to the floor carelessly.

Hands come around his stomach, freeing him of the bejeweled chains around it. John doesn’t linger on his stomach, steadily looking into Roger’s eyes.

Roger is shaking.

With the metal _gone_ , he feels – he feels like a person, again. He feels like he can breathe for the first time in months.

“Wha – _why_ –“ Roger feels fat tears running down his cheeks, only to be gathered up, wiped away.

“In here, you can be Roger, without any of that,” Brian says softly. “John won’t ever let anyone pass through, not even the fucking King.”

“It’s not much, but you can be free, in here, I – I guess,” Freddie adds hesitatingly.

“We know it’s not worth much, not after everything, but –“

“Thank you,” Roger interrupts John with a watery smile.

“Don’t thank us,” John shakes his head, looking subdued. “We – _I_ didn’t do anything –“

“Without you all, I’d have impaled myself on a spear,” Roger says bluntly. “Thank you,” he enforces, looking at each one of them. And then, he reaches up, cupping John’s face, pressing a trembling kiss on his lips. John goes still, looking at him wide-eyed.

“Roger, you don’t have to –“

“I know. You’re the only alpha in this forsaken castle that I _don’t_ ,” he adds. He leans in to press a kiss to Freddie’s slack lips, then to Brian, who looks like someone gutted him. “Outside this room I’m – I’m a pretty fucktoy, but here – I can choose,” he mumbles, burrowing his nose against John’s scent gland, inhaling the heavenly smell there. “If you want,” he adds.

“ _Fuck_ ,” John says, staring down at Roger. “Roger, what do _you_ want?”

“You,” Roger says simply. “I – all of you,” he adds looking at Freddie and Brian. “Please. Make me feel like a human, a _person_ , again.”

.

They touch him like he’s the most precious person on earth. Afraid to cross his boundaries, they start slow, terrified of hurting him, three sets of hands just barely ghosting over his skin.

His swollen stomach is left untouched, as if it didn’t exist; they know he loathes it, know he wishes it weren’t there. They show him places to be pleasured Roger didn’t know existed.

John has thick, lovely fingers, rough with callouses; he’s the most gentle out of them all, spending endless moments in just caressing him, until Roger feels like he’s bursting.

Brian has clever hands, knowledgeable and dexterous, drawing out Roger’s first whimper of pleasure of the night as he teases his hipbones, close to his cock.

Freddie has a spectacularly talented mouth; eager too. Roger’s cock has barely gotten any attention the past few months, but Freddie seems to love taking his time, little moans of rapture escaping him as he takes him in his mouth, causing Roger’s hips to buck; it only spurs him on more.

What Roger adores most is the complete control they give him. The listen to every little noise, stop when he tells them to, let him arrange them until he can see them all, keeping them in his line of sight.

It’s Brian whom he allows to open him up. Brian looks cautiously eager as he slides down between Roger’s legs, pretty pink tongue lapping at his slick, teasing Roger’s hole until he sinks into it easily, making the prettiest wet noises, as if he couldn’t get enough of his taste.

It’s John that comes next, making Roger moan without inhibition with his strong fingers teasing inside, quickly finding his sweet spot, looking up at Roger in utter adoration. He makes Roger come on his fingers alone, lapping at the slick-covered hand in utter rapture.

It’s Freddie who presses himself flush behind Roger, turning so Roger can still see his face. He slides into Roger so easily that Roger barely feels it, just sighs at the feel of the beta’s cock, just sized right for Roger – it’s the first time that he wraps around it easily. He feels Freddie pant into his neck, and for the first time, takes pleasure from a lover’s pleasure.

Freddie fucks him slow, but deep, and nothing about this is hurried, or aggressive, or humiliating. Somewhere, he knew that coupling could be like this, was supposed to be like this, but it’s the first time Roger’s experiencing it.

Next to him, John has moved to finger Brian open, who sighs prettily at John’s ministrations. Both are looking at Roger, their eyes not leaving him once.

_Roger feels loved._

It doesn’t take Freddie too long to come, and for the first time, Roger is asked if it’s alright to come inside of him – if he _wants_ that. Overwhelmed, overflowing with warmth, Roger nods, and sobs at the feeling of Freddie filling him.

As soon as Freddie curls away, Brian shifts him to his back, lapping up the come and slick he finds there, cleaning Roger up. At the same time, John crawls behind Brian, who nods distractedly at the inquisitive hand between his shoulderblades and John wastes no more time in sliding inside Brian.

Betas aren’t naturally submissive, or dominant; Roger has heard some have preferences, though, and Brian seems to prove that rule, moaning and writhing between Roger and John as if he’d never felt greater pleasure. When he’s done licking Roger clean, he takes his cock into his mouth again, and Roger is treated to the unique pleasure to feel John fuck Brian steadily, his thrusts pushing Brian to take Roger deeper, moaning around Roger’s cock, the vibrations sending Roger over the edge, eventually.

When Brian comes, he does so violently; John has to hold him down as he trashes and howls in pleasure, drooling into Roger’s thigh after he stops screaming, voice now hoarse. He barely reacts as John heaves him up, shuffling him to lie next to Freddie, both betas curling up next to each other like cats. He does it with such practiced ease that Roger realizes they must have done this before. The thought sends a thrill down his spine, as well as a spike of jealousy.

“Do you still want –“ John begins, looking adorably flushed, and Roger is reminded that he’s the youngest out of them all, just barely considered of age.

“Yes, but – can I be on top?” Roger worries his bottom lip, but John just nods, looking eager even as he slides up the bed, turning on his back, essentially taking Roger’s place.

“Are you stretched enough, love?” Freddie asks, eyeing John’s cock, and –

It’s definitely _big_.

“We don’t have to –“ John begins again.

“Shut up,” Roger grunts, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he crawls into John’s lap, straddling him. “Just give me a moment.” John holds admirably still when he fists John’s gorgeous cock, stroking up and down a few times. Only when he lines it up, head just barely brushing his hole, that John’s hands fly to his hips. Roger swats them away, shooting him a look. “Only when I tell you to,” he says, and feels a thrill of power at the way John whines, hands falling away immediately. _Listening_.

Brian, taking pity, reaches out to grab John’s hand, holding them, grounding John.

He seems to need it as Roger sinks down, inch by inch, relishing in the power, the agency he has been given, much more than the actual stretch – which is delicious. John is taut underneath him, holding still as Roger takes his time, until he finally bottoms out.

Both groan as their hip press flush against each other, stopping for a moment. Roger is particularly salivating, John’s heady scent growing more intense, mingling with his own, with the muted smells of the other two – not to mention the perfect way John fits inside him, filling him out nicely.

Roger starts to move, tossing his head back, balancing himself on John’s chest.

The position is hell on his thigh, beginning to burn only after a few minutes; Roger thinks this would be easier without his bloated belly, but he’s loathe to give up this position, loves the sight of John at his mercy under him. And it would be the easiest thing in the world for John to flip them, to take what he wants, how he wants it. And yet, he doesn’t, almost seems to melt under Roger, chest quivering under Roger’s hands.

Next to them, Brian and Freddie are trading eager kisses, but both keep an eye on the two of them, even as they rut against each other, apparently playfully squabbling for dominance in between kisses.

Eventually, Roger tires out, slumping on John’s chest. “John,” he whines out. “Can’t, I’m too tired –“

“Can I touch you?” John asks, looking at him earnestly, and Roger feels his heart give a painful squeeze.

“Yes, please – John, I need you –“

“I’ll switch position, okay?” John checks, surging up only after Roger’s nod, tugging him gently into his arms. Roger barely feels it as John manages to get onto his knees, somehow managing to get leverage, and Roger purrs at the show of strength of the alpha. “Gods,” John groans, and then Roger is laid on his back, still connected with John.

“John, move,” Roger begs. “I’m so close –“

John leans down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to his lips. “I’ll take care of you,” he promises voice all _alpha_ , and Roger bares his neck on instinct. “You’re so incredible, Roger – the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” With that, he starts to move, slow, even thrusts, and the new angle has Roger writhing under him despite the gentleness.

“John, _alpha_ ,” Roger whines, thrusting back, begging him to go faster, eyes fluttering in pleasure as he holds on to John’s back. John growls softly against his bare neck, nipping at the tender skin there, thrusts increasing in speed.

“Roger, fuck,” John moans, the words accompanied by the slap of skin against skin. “I – I want – can I –“

Roger rears back to look at John, eyes hazy with pleasure and safe and love. “Knot me, alpha,” he begs. “ _My_ alpha,” he mewls, and John bares his teeth, lowering his mouth to Roger’s neck, licking over the skin, his pace now frantic.

“John, love,” Brian mumbles, sounding apologetic as he sinks a hand in John’s long hair, tugging him back. “You can’t mark him.” John growls, snarling wordlessly at Brian, who, to his credit, looks unperturbed.

“Not yet, sweetling,” Freddie adds, the words mollifying John enough for a grumble, burying his head into Roger’s neck, Brian still tugging at his hair.

“Alpha,” Roger sighs as he feels John’s tongue lap at his scent glands, the spot where a mating bite would go. “Please, need you –“

John hums against his skin, arms wrapped around Roger tightly, securely, as if shielding him from the world. Somehow, it’s that thought that has Roger’s toes curling, nails digging into John’s shoulders as he comes, not with a shout, not violently, not forced – he comes with a content sigh, panting into John’s ear as he’s held through his pleasure, as John kisses his neck tenderly.

It’s a privilege to feel John follow him, moaning weakly as Roger’s wall contract around his cock. Roger loves how deep John reaches inside him, how warm he feels at being filled by John.

“More,” he says, voice breathless. “Meant it – want your knot, John, _alpha_.” John sobs desperately against his neck, shuddering, and lets go.

The feeling of the knot, of John’s knot slowly filling him, pressing deliciously against his sweet spot tears out another orgasm out of Roger, shaking apart in John’s strong arms and everything goes white, then black.

When he becomes aware again, he’s still in John’s arms, the knot still swollen and thick inside of him. There are hands tenderly cleaning away his sweat and tears, doing the same to John. Brian and Freddie babble sweet praise to them; Roger isn’t coherent enough to understand them, doesn’t really bother to.

His neck hurts, and he jolts, eyes suddenly wide.

“I didn’t,” John mumbles against his neck. “Marked you, but not permanently. No one will know.”

“We wouldn’t do that to you – not unless you wanted to,” Brian tells him, fingers carding through his hair.

“Mh, but what if I did?” Roger wonders, and John goes very still above him.

“Don’t say things like that when I’m still inside of you,” John begs, and there’s a feral edge to it. Roger wonders how much control John had to muster to go against every instinct, young as he is.

“I wish you could,” Roger insists. “I wish I would’ve met you – all of you – before any of this.”

They all stare at him, terrified and full of wonder.

“Thank you, for this,” Roger says, feeling content, if a bit wistful. “Now I have something that belongs to me; something they can’t take away.”

Overcome with emotion, Freddie leans down, pressing a kiss to his brow. “I know this is the worst possible time,” he laughs, incredulously. “But I do love you, Roger. Very much.”

John rumbles contently into his skin. “I’d burn this entire land to the ground, if you would only ask,” he’s told, and now Roger feels his eyes prickle with hot tears, even as his heart soars.

“And I,” Brian says. “I love you more than I love the moon, the stars – more than life itself.”

“You – you’re all –“ Roger breaks off, sniffling. “I would give you the world, if it were mine.”

“Roger,” John says, sounding faintly amused. “You already have.”

“Without you, we – wouldn’t have found strength like this – we’d wallow in our lives.”

“You’ve given us hope.”

Roger doesn’t know how they could possibly feel hope, but – it’s not the place or time to ask, they seem ridiculously happy.

Roger wishes he’d feel the same hope they are.

.

In the following weeks, nothing changes outside their room, their sanctuary, their den. But inside of Roger, something has changed.

It’s easier, bearing all the alphas still bending him over, the King’s attentions, Foster’s little games – because in the evening, Freddie, John and Brian take him into their arms, free him from his shackles, and make him _feel_.

Roger isn’t happy, per se, because as January turns into February, he’s so heavy he has trouble moving around, feels uncomfortable all the time, tires easily; all a reminder of what’s to come.

But he has something that makes him feel again, something that is his, something all of these horrible alphas can’t take from him if they’d tried.

It feels just a little like rebellion, a spark reignited they can’t smother, and none of them _know_.

.

Clare visits him every day, regaling him with court gossip, with news of the Kingdom, with nostalgic retellings of their childhood shenanigans.

Roger savors these moments, hoping they’ll remain, for whatever comes _after_.

.

Somehow, Brian pulls of a miracle, a small blessing.

Originally, his confinement was meant to be in the ballroom, chained to his pedestal – though made comfortable – as everyone can come gawk at him in his final month, to stand by as he whelps their precious alpha heir, to cheer when the priest brings down the knife to exchange his life for the prosperous one of the child.

Brian argues himself hoarse over the course of a day, no one backing him up as he insists Roger is too delicate, needs real rest, real confinement, only a handful of visitors allowed, so the heir isn’t endangered of being born prematurely, too weak, caused by his stressed bearer.

He wins.

Roger bears the vicious taunting about his useless omega nature, lets it wash over him, lets it roll off like a duck would water.

As soon as the last, disgruntled alpha leaves, Roger throws himself around Brian’s neck, laughing into his neck hysterically, so relieved he almost feels manic.

Brian gets all of their attention that night.

.

The remaining three weeks pass in a blur; less and less alphas want his devotion now, he’s grown too big, too clumsy, too heavy for their rough attentions – the ringing warning of _delicate_ still fresh in most of their minds.

And then, he’s requested to attend the King, for the very last time.

Roger would skip the way there, if he still were able.

.

Roger isn’t exactly surprised that both the King and Lord Foster are waiting for him, but he still can’t help the shiver running down his spine; they both look unhappy.

“Come, omega slave,” the King thunders. “Give us your devotion, one last time.”

One last time. Roger can do this.

He’s almost there.

.

They keep him for the entire day. They’re mindful of his delicate state, don’t fuck him too harshly, don’t force him into impossible positions – they both believe it’s their blood ripening in him.

That doesn’t mean they find other ways to humiliate him, though.

Roger isn’t allowed to walk, made to crawl on his hands and knees as they languidly tug him all around the King’s rooms until Roger’s back aches at the uncomfortable strain from his stomach. Roger has had trouble to reach down to touch himself for a time, now, pleasuring himself made difficult. So, they procure him a toy, a large, wooden cock, tying it to the bedframe, both looking insidious as they instruct him to fuck himself on it.

It’s exhausting, the thing just this side of too rigid, too big to be pleasurable, and Roger has to stay on his hand and knees as he fucks himself back onto it, feeling too slow and heavy, sweat pouring out of him, face beet-red.

The alphas watch him, lazily stroking their cocks as they watch him, and it’s with a sigh of relief when they step up to him, coming all over his face, his hair, because it means he can stop. They direct him to his hand and knees, pushing the wooden toy inside him and tying the leather straps around his hips so it doesn’t slip out as they tug at his hair, making him swallow their softening cocks until they’re licked clean, until they harden in his mouth again.

He's pushed onto the bed on his back, Foster sliding between his spread legs and tugging out the wooden cock out, and Roger barely feels it before he’s full again. He stifles the little hitching sobs threatening to escape, and then the King kneels over his face, his balls pressing into Roger’s face.

“Worship me,” the King purrs, and Roger twists his hands into the sheets, knuckles whitening as he laps at the heavy balls, before the King’s heavy cock pushes past his lips, thrusting deep inside of him.

Roger is hanging between them, both of these monstrous alphas connected together through him, both grunting and snarling over him, trying to subconsciously staking a claim that will never be theirs, no matter how much he broke through their hands.

It’s a relieve when he feels Foster’s thrusts slow, his grip painfully possessive on his stomach as he growls out filth, calling Roger a whore, and omega slave, all the names that he’s used too many times. Roger whines, and the King chokes above him, filling Roger’s throat with his seed as well, the musky scent overwhelming Roger, and he can’t help but gag.

They move off him, leaving him soiled with their seed as he pants heavily on the lush bed. They look as his stomach heaves with him, big and ripe and swollen, follow every twitch as come dribbles out of him, as he turns his head to let the come left there drool out of his mouth.

The King tuts at that, and Roger starts as he sees him grab the wooden toy, chest squeezing in terrified anticipation, when –

Through the window, he sees the sun set behind the towers of the castle, the world darkening. Barely a scant moment later, there is a knock on the door, and John enters, unfazed by the twin glares these powerful men shoot him, eyes on Roger.

“It’s time for the devotee’s confinement, my King, my Lord,” he addresses them.

“Already?” The King sighs, but he nods wistfully as he glances out of the window. “Ah, well. Pity, we weren’t quite done, weren’t we, Lord Foster?”

“No, my King,” the Lord glowers, almost snarls at John. John stands his ground, staring him down.

“Now, now,” the King laughs at Foster’s childish display. “Send for one of my slaves, I have one that looks remarkably like our dear devotee,” he grins, patting Roger’s head. “And she’s more fresh than this one, sprightly little thing that she is.”

“True,” Lord Foster sneers, looking down at Roger with contempt. Roger doesn’t look at them, doesn’t react, curling to his side. “This one started to get loose from spreading his legs so much.”

“His use is almost over, anyway,” the King shrugs, swatting Roger’s bum playfully, his hand lingering for a moment. “Well, then, little omega slave – you’ve fulfilled your duties to us.” Roger exhales, shaking. “Aren’t you honored to have served us?”

_He’s done, he made it._

“Thank you –“ _fuck you_ “ – your majesty, your lordship.” He bows to them, so he can hide his slow smile.

“Farewell,” the King says, almost sounding morose as Roger turns, John following him, shielding him from the two other alphas.

Foster doesn’t say anything, expression like thunder.

It doesn’t matter.

They don’t have power over him anymore.

Roger’s _done_.

He can’t quite contain the little giggle.

.

“ _John_ ,” he moans, reaching out. “Bri, Freddie – _please_ –“

He tosses his head back as John twists his fingers cleverly inside of him, the same time as Freddie suckles on a nipple, as Brian drags his tongue over Roger’s, making him fall apart between them in the best of ways.

After he cleaned himself up, after the other three tore off the chains and collars off him for the last time, he sunk into their arms, feeling like he was floating.

Yes, he was one step closer to his fate, but –

For these following weeks, he belongs only to himself.

That night, he rides all three of them, watches their beautiful faces as they submit to him, look up at him with awe. With adoration.

With love.

.

“Have you thought about names?” Clare asks him delicately, one day, stirring her tea.

Roger snorts as he munches on a scone. He feels disgusting and sweaty, despite having barely left the bed today. He’s wearing soft breeches and a shirt in months, and with the collars off now permanently, Roger feels decidedly more like a person than he has in the past eight months.

If not for his bulging stomach, that is.

“The fuck does it matter?” He says, just a tad bitterly. “It’s not like they’ll ask for my opinion.”

“No, but they’ll ask his guardian – Mathilde. And she’s already asked me for suggestions.”

Oh.

“Fuck, name it tiger for all I care – or lion, for their Age of the Lion,” he snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Roger –“

“I don’t – I _can’t_ care,” he says, with just enough desperation that she nods, taking a sip of tea.

“I’ll name it Roger, just watch me,” she warns.

“And if it’s a girl?”

“Eh, Rogerina has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” She teases, but Roger feels himself blanch – Clare has done more ridiculous things out of spite.

“You wouldn’t dare –“ He stops at the glint in her eyes.

She _would_.

Roger pities the child, just a little, for that.

.

It’s a sour bliss, spending his last days like this; his lovers are the only ones at his side, except Clare – occasionally, another physician comes to check on Roger, and once, the priest as well.

Mostly, though, he’s left in blissful peace. To his chagrin, he can’t really do anything, can’t fuck his lovers, as he comes closer to his due date, in late March.

His lovers find other ways to pleasure him, keeping his mind blissfully empty of anything but their hands, their tongues, their cocks.

Only in the grey hours of the night changing into dawn he lets himself think of what is to come. He studiously ignores the eager kicks of the thing in his stomach, as if it _knows_.

A part of him wants to love it – it’s not its fault, Roger knows that. But he _can’t_ care about it, because if he does –

It would make his impending death all the more heartbreaking.

.

He wonders if death will hurt.

Roger know dying will hurt; either he’ll bleed out, or the priest will stab him if he doesn’t.

Death isn’t cruel, though. Dying can be, but death just _is_.

.

A pain unlike anything else tears through him one late afternoon, and he drops the plate Freddie just handed him, doubling over.

He hears Freddie yelling, feels Brian tug off his clothes, checking on him, John’s spear clattering to the ground, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. Fear swells in his chest with another wave of pain, and he screams.

_He doesn’t want to die._

.

Clare comes rushing through the door, followed by John, her eyes wide and terrified.

.

Through his contractions, he’s dimly aware of the new presence of a midwife, an elderly beta, completely focused and professional.

Still, she smells _wrong_ in his little sanctuary.

“Give him something for the pain,” she barks at Brian, interpreting his snarl as one of pain.

.

The potion helps, but it makes Roger drowsy, limbs heavy and head pounding.

Outside his window, the sun sets – and it’s the last time Roger will ever see the sun.

He sobs, clinging to Freddie as another contraction hits him.

At least he’s not alone.

.

Roger’s head swims, but he feels something calm settle in him. Through the haze of pain, he knows it’s going to be over soon.

He’ll be free.

“ _Push_!” Someone says.

.

Outside in the halls, excited yells suddenly pierce through Roger’s pain-crazed brain.

“The sky! The Gods have given us a sign! Glory to the Kingdom!”

A tiny, furious yell echoes in the room.

Roger sags into the pillows.

.

“Drink this,” Brian whispers. Roger opens his mouth, choking at the foul taste of the potion.

“’s okay,” he slurs, as the door bangs open, the priest entering with an overjoyed expression on his face. He’s holding a bejeweled dagger in his hand. “Love you – love you all,” he manages, eyes fluttering shut.

He slips in and out of consciousness, only dimly aware of the raised voices around him. Through his blurred vision, he catches a glimpse of the thing – of his _child_.

He gasps quietly.

She’s stunning, and already so strong.

Roger doesn’t love her, but, if things were different, he thinks he could’ve learned to.

Hands grab his shoulders, pinning him down. He blinks, looking into John’s stormy eyes, full of sorrow, full of pride. Above him, the priest raises the dagger.

“It’s going to be alright,” John mumbles into his ears, voice hoarse, desolate.

Roger smiles, closing his eyes.

The dagger comes down.

Darkness takes him.

.

“Princess Lionne!” A shout echoes through the halls, but the little alpha princess is already gone, only her laughter all that’s echoing through the castle.

“My Lady aunt!” A whirlwind of blonde energy slams into Clare, wrapping around her middle. Clare laughs, picking her little niece up.

“Escaping your tutors, are we, my little star?” The girl giggles at the nickname, her smile lighting up her sunbright little face, and for a moment, it’s Roger instead of her niece, and Clare’s heart aches for just a moment. “History is important, Lia.”

“I _know_ ,” the girl pouts. “But I don’t like it – all Lord Foster ever talks about is the _glorious_ alpha rulers – it’s _boring_ ,” she tells Clare, with all the righteous indignation of a seven-year old child. Clare feels her face sour at the mention of the monstrous man – she can allow herself this, in her own rooms, with Mathilde gone to attend the court; her duty as Regent, now that the King had suffered from an unfortunate bout of food poisoning, a year ago. Clare smiles, a little too sharp as she strokes of the fair head of her niece’s head as she thinks of the King’s gurling, terrified noises.

“I see,” she speaks, eyes looking out of the window. “Well, perhaps we could indulge other tutors, for a while – there are a few being considered, from abroad.” _With broader minds than those here_ , Clare thinks. “I’ll talk to your aunt Mathilde, hm?” As if Clare has ever been denies anything these past few years.

“Please, my Lady aunt,” the girl beams, curling into Clare’s arms. She is considered unusally affectionate and kind, the aggression considered inherent in alphas, especially royal ones, completely absent as Princess Lionne is kind and benevolent to all of her subjects – be it nobles or peasants, servants or even the omega slaves. The court whispers behind their hands about how this alpha heir is _too soft_ for ruling a kingdom.

But the star that streaked through the sky at the hour of her birth silences even the Princess’ most stubborn opposers.

And Clare makes sure the court doesn’t forget their signs of the Gods.

“Lady Aunt,” the girl whispers now, playing with the hem of Clare’s dress. “Can you tell me about my father, again?”

“ _Again_?” She laughs, but her heart soars. “Alright, my little starlight child,” she whispers. “Our little secret, hm?”

“Yes, auntie,” her niece replies in a hushed whisper, eyes bright, her little face – so much like Roger’s – somber and earnest. “And – can you call me by the name you gifted me?”

“Of course,” Clare mumbles. “ _Asteria_ ,” she says, stepping to the window, looking out to the dying sunset. “Look, do you see the colors of the sky?” Asteria nods, looking at the sunset raptly. “Your father, Roger –“ Clare savors the name each time she can say it. “He is under the same sky as we, somewhere in the world, completely free of his shackles. We are all born free.”

.

Roger wakes up.

This confuses him, as he is in pain, and wherever he is, is _shaking_.

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Freddie mumbles into his neck, holding him tighter. Brian makes a sound like a sob next to him.

“What –“ he frowns. “I – are you dead, too?”

“No, love,” John mumbles, and now Roger recognizes his warmth at his back as a kiss is pressed into his hair. “We are alive, as are you.”

Roger opens his mouth, but then he sees the long, jagged wound on John’s arm.

He remembers –

_– hands holding him down, whispered promises of salvation –_

He remembers –

_– a dagger racing down to pierce his heart as his daughter wails –_

He remembers –

_– blood splattering everywhere, over John, over Roger, as Roger succumbs to the bitter taste in his mouth –_

“You clever bastards,” Roger breathes, a startled laugh leaving him as he thumbs around the raised, angry skin around John’s wound. Their carriage shakes as it hits a stone. “And no one suspects?”

“No,” Brian says. “Well, Clare knows, of course.”

_Clare_.

“Is she –“

“She will do great things,” Freddie grins, mischievously, before he sobers. “You won’t see her for quite some time, though.”

“I just – I hate the thought of her alone in that place.”

“She isn’t alone,” John mumbles. “She is with your – your daughter.”

Roger absorbs the words, staring at the flapping curtain of the carriage’s window.

“What’s her name?”

.

_“Princess Asteria Lionne was born under the Star of the Lion as a great comet streaked through the night sky, hailing her entering this world. She was named for the falling star, proclaiming her prophesied coming – an alpha ruler that will bring the Turn of the Time.”_

.

“Can you please sing me my song, my Lady aunt?” Asteria mumbles politely, as her aunt finishes her story, thinking about her father somewhere under the same night sky, _free_.

One day, Asteria will make the world so that she can meet him.

Her aunt laughs, and Asteria wonders if her father’s laugh sounds like hers.

_“It’s said she came down from moonlight and the darkness of the skies_

_A falling fire she was, wandering from starry paths down to earth_

_Bringing the light of prophecy with her, and wonders and dreams_

_She was vast, as close as she was far away, and hauntingly beautiful_

_“Of the night, she was, and the dead come when she whispers to the night_

_She was loved, she was revered –“_

Little Asteria dreams.

_One day._

.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're all still alive after this. 
> 
> Fun fact, the Title and the song at the end are actually from my own poems (also on AO3).


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